


How To Keep A Werewolf

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Allison Argent, Child Stiles Stilinski, Fire, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, He goes to therapy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Past Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sane Peter Hale, Scarred Peter Hale, Scars, Spirit Animals, Stiles visits Peter in hospital, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, mostly at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: While Peter is in a coma, he receives only one visitor. Stiles accidentally stumbles into his room one day when he needs a place to hide and cry because his mother is dying. The boy begins to visit frequently, talking and reading to Peter. After he wakes up and leaves the hospital, Peter meets Stiles and his father again, under frightening circumstances: The Sheriff's house is on fire and Stiles is still in it. Peter makes a decision that leads to more than anyone has bargained for.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Derek Hale & Peter Hale, Peter Hale & Sheriff Stilinski, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 116
Kudos: 572





	1. Chapter 1

Something is burning. 

The smell hits Peter first. Smoke and burning wood. He turns around a corner and sees the sparks flying high above the shadows of trees, the night sky lightened up by blazing flames and the flashing lights of firetrucks. The roof of a house is on fire. Peter shivers and stares at the flames licking the wood hungrily. He's transfixed. His heart is pounding. 

People - gazers - are standing on the street, whispering to each other. 

Peter takes a few steps back, trying to disappear in the shadows. He feels his control slipping and fears someone might see his eyes gleaming. The memories are still too fresh. The memories of the fire that consumed his family years ago. He reaches up unconsciously, touching the side of his face where the scars still linger. They are fainter by now, but not yet completely gone. 

Peter feels sick. And slightly angry. Is there any way he can go a day without being reminded of what happened? He just wanted to take a walk in peace, and now he basically stumbles over a fire. Well. Now he definitely has something to tell his therapist.

Peter sighs and wants to walk away, back to where he came from. But then, he hears the scream. It almost sounds like a pained howl. Peter freezes. He knows this noise. It’s the noise someone makes, when they are about to lose a loved one. He turns his head and sees someone stumbling towards the burning house, before a fireman reaches out, holding the man back. 

The man makes that horrible noise again. He says something to the fireman, gripping the other man’s shoulders tightly. Peter focuses on his voice, wanting to hear. “Please, my son … My son is in there!” The man rambles. His face is contorted in desperation, his voice hoarse from the smoke he must have inhaled. “Please, you have to … Please … I have to go in there. I have to save him!”

“You can’t go in there, Sheriff. It’s too dangerous. We will get him out, I promise,” the fireman says, trying to sound calm. But his heartbeat and his scent tell Peter he doesn’t know if they will get the kid out of there. 

The man - the father - makes a desperate noise and lowers his head. _Sheriff_ … Oh. Peter recognizes him now and his stomach sinks. It’s Sheriff Stilinski. The one and only man that wanted to believe Peter, when he told him it wasn’t an accident but arson. The man who nodded and said he was going to reopen the case. The man who already convinced everyone else that there was no technical problem leading to the fire. The man who definitely belongs to the less insufferable humans Peter knows.

The man whose wife died in the same hospital Peter lay in. The man who has a son. Peter knows him. Stiles, the kid calls himself. Stiles. Because his real name is …

  
_“It’s unspeakable. When people try to say it, it sounds like a curse in a foreign language. So I tell them to call me Stiles. That’s easier. Some people say it’s not a name but I like it,” the boy with the tousled hair rambled happily, kicking his feet into the air where he was sitting on a chair beside Peter’s bed, shifting restlessly. He was never still. He was always moving. Always talking. He filled Peter’s usually silent room with liveliness. Peter didn’t mind hearing something else than the steady beeping of the heart monitor or the noise of hasty footsteps walking past his room without faltering. He hasn’t had any visitors in years._

_  
__Stiles first came stumbling into his room weeks ago, wiping tears from his face with the sleeve of his too big shirt. He dropped in a chair and wept, rocking back and forth gently. If Peter could, he would have frowned and asked what the hell the brat was thinking. He was just coming out of his mind because the pain became bearable, but he couldn’t react to his surroundings, which apparently made everyone think he wasn’t alert. Peter wished they were right._

 _After a long while, Stiles stopped crying and sniffed. When he spoke, his voice was broken and small. “I’m sorry, Sir. I know I’m not supposed to go into the rooms, but … I needed a place to hide. My mom is dying. Well. They tell me she’s still fighting, but I know they’re lying. She’s going to die soon and everyone looks at me like … like ... I hate the looks they give me. I hate how they talk to me. I just … I needed to see something else. I hope you’re not terribly angry at me. I’m leaving soon. Sorry.” He stopped talking, maybe waiting for an answer. When none came, the kid asked, “Sir? Can you hear me?”  
  
_ _Perfectly. Peter just couldn’t react. Or tell Stiles to talk a little bit quieter.  
_

_The boy was silent for a moment. Then, he hopped from the chair and carefully approached the bed. His tear-stained face appeared above Peter’s, and the kid gasped, his eyes widening. “Shit,” he said matter of factly, and then quickly added, “Sorry. That’s a bad word. I am not supposed to use it. Uh. You look like Two-Face. Oh sorry. I guess it’s not polite to say that to someone. Ah. Uhm.” His face disappeared and a moment later, there was the noise of papers being flipped. Peter guessed the boy was going through the file attached to his bed. “Oh shit,” the kid murmured again, immediately mumbling another apology that didn’t sound like he meant it. “You’re Peter Hale! You survived that big fire years ago.”_

_He did. Unfortunately._

_Stiles' face appeared again. “I’m sorry you lost your family. Uh. I’m also sorry I disturbed you. I mean, I don’t know if you even hear me, but if you do, yeah, I’m sorry. Uh... Bye.” The kid left abruptly, and Peter almost wished he would have stayed.  
  
_

_Stiles came back the next day, putting a flower on the window sill. It smelled nice. At least it was something else than disinfectant and the too sweet perfume of his current nurse. The kid told Peter he brought his mother the same flowers and since Peter's room was so empty, he thought he would bring him one too. Then he left again. As sudden as he came.  
  
_

_Stiles’ visits became regular. One day, he appeared in the room, munching a chocolate bar. The smell was heavenly. Peter hasn't eaten properly in years. He’s fed through a tube. “A very rude nurse told me you won’t wake up ever again, you know. Well, to be honest I wouldn’t want to wake up to a world without my family either,” Stiles told him, sitting in his chair again, his feet dangling above the floor. “I can understand being scared of being alone.” The kid was silent for a while. Then he whispered, “I don’t want my mother to die, Peter. I really don’t want her to die. I wish, there was a way to save her. A miracle.” Stiles sniffed and shrugged and told Peter more about his family. About his brave sheriff father who always tried his best to solve every crime and do everyone justice. About his mother who took Stiles to McDonalds on "good days" and dressed up as Superheroes with him. She sounded nice. Peter wondered if the bite could save her, but he never saw someone that sick get bitten._

_  
__He started to feel bad for the boy.  
  
_

_When Stiles came into his room someday, sobbing and clutching at his chest, basically falling on his bed face-forward, Peter knew what happened, before the kid stumbled out, “She’s … she’s gone. My mother. She’s really gone. She’s … It hurts, Peter. It hurts so much. I don’t know what to do.”_

_Peter wished he could wrap his arm around the kid. But he still couldn’t move more than a finger. So he had to lay there and listen to the kid’s sobs slowly fading away.  
  
_

_Stiles wasn’t the same after this. He was quieter and smelled differently. He still came to visit Peter though. And Peter started to really like him. His wolf purred happily when Stiles' scent flooded the room. Stiles noticed little things no one else would think about. He came in and turned Peter’s wheelchair so he wasn’t looking at a wall but out the window, at the trees and the sky. He came in and closed the curtains when the sun was shining on Peter’s skin too bright and warm. He came in and started to read to Peter. Only children’s books, of course. But it was something. While listening to Stiles’ voice, Peter started to feel calmer. More settled._

_The visits went on for a long time and Peter guessed Stiles’ father approved of it. There was no way Stiles could come into his room secretly for so many weeks and months. Stiles was there, when Peter moved his hand for the first time. He didn’t notice, too busy with reading the third part of Harry Potter._

_God. Snape really was a dick._

Peter is ripped out of his memories, when there’s a loud crack and a part of the burning roof collapses. The firemen are running around and yell. Some of them are apparently preparing to go in. But they are slow. Way too slow. Why are humans always so slow?!

The sheriff is sitting in the grass, numbly staring at his burning house, a hand clutching at his heart. 

Peter grits his teeth. His eyes flicker from the Sheriff, to the firemen to the burning house. His wolf recoils. But Peter doesn't, because … Stiles is human. Stiles is human and small and weak. Even if the firemen get him out of the burning house, he could still die of smoke inhalation. Peter shivers. Oh God. He’s really going to do it right? Right. He's going to play hero of the day.

Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The smell makes him feel sick to his stomach. Everything inside him yells at him to turn around and run. But he can’t. Stiles doesn’t deserve to die today. He has to live. Peter doesn’t want the kid to suffer the same fate his family did.

He can’t always run away. That’s what his therapist told him too. Sometimes, you have to face things. Because running away changes little to nothing. The demons don’t stay behind. They follow you.

Peter growls and walks towards the burning house, ignoring everyone around him. He ignores the fireman telling him to stop, he ignores the burning piece of wood dropping into the grass right in front of him. He just jumps over it, running into the house. 

Inside, the heat is almost unbearable. The house is filled with smoke and everything is blurry. From above, Peter can hear threatening cracking noises. He squints, pulling his shirt up to cover his nose. “Stiles?” He asks. No answer. 

Peter walks further in, although everything inside of him wants to flee. The smell and the noises threaten to wake up memories he tried to bury in his mind. 

He focuses and relief fills him when he can hear a rapid heartbeat. It comes from upstairs. Where the smoke floats thicker. Peter swallows and coughs, hurrying up the stairs. In the hallway above, he sees the first flames. Fire licks at the walls, the ceiling is ripped apart at some places. The roof aches and he knows he doesn’t have much time left. He focuses on the heartbeat and opens a door, to reveal what is clearly a children’s room, filled with toys and posters of sport and music stars. There are a lot of books. Heaps of them, even on the floor. 

“Stiles!” Peter croaks, feeling his lungs getting dry and his mind foggy. The smoke is getting to him. When he listens closely, he can hear the echoes of screams. The screams of his dying family ... He growls and focuses on his task. Finding Stiles. “Stiles, where are you?” 

He hears a whimper. It comes from under the bed. And there is the kid, curled up into himself and hugging his knees to his chest. He’s whimpering between coughs. His eyes are glassy and he’s breathing frantically. He looks like he’s in a lot of panic and probably frozen in place. 

Peter reaches out a hand. “Stiles. Come out. We have to hurry.” 

Stiles blinks. His mouth opens, forming an surprised o. “What … what are you doing here?” He asks. Peter realises it had been months since Stiles had seen him the last time. As soon as he could move his useless body, Peter left the hospital and for a moment, he feels surprisingly bad, imagining Stiles coming into his room, being sad and disappointed when it was empty. He shoves these thoughts away. Not now … 

“I’m saving you, obviously. Now come out.” Peter looks up worriedly, the ceiling has a lot of cracks and he doesn’t know how much longer it’s going to hold. 

“I can’t. I can’t move,” Stiles whispers, coughing. 

“Yes you can. It’s just the fear, it makes you freeze. You have to move, Stiles."

Stiles whimpers, but he finally moves, shuffling forward until Peter can reach him. He picks the boy up and Stiles immediately wraps his thin arms around Peter’s neck, crying into his shirt. “It’s going to be alright,” Peter mumbles, pressing Stiles close. “I’ve got you.”

The ceiling creaks and the house actually moves. Peter sways and curses, knowing they really don’t have much time left. He can hear more heartbeats that tell him the firemen finally entered the house. Idiots. Peter looks to the only window in the room. That’s the fastest way out, he decides. 

“I’m scared, Peter,” Stiles says, his voice muffled. For a moment, Peter wants to say _me too. God, me too._ But he just presses Stiles closer to him, opening the window. There are thick clouds of smoke outside. Peter looks down. It's high, but he'll manage. This time, there's a way out. This time, he'll save someone. “It’s going to be ok, Stiles. I promise. Just don’t look. Close your eyes and hold your breath.” 

Stiles does as he’s told. Peter prepares to jump. He partly shifts and takes care his claws don't graze the kid's skin. He jumps and just a moment before a large piece of the ceiling collapses right were they stood, he’s out, landing on his feet heavily, Stiles still clinging to him. 

“Is it over?” The kid asks weakly. 

Peter nods. “It is.”  
  
The next moment, there’s a loud scream. “Stiles!” 

The sheriff comes running, a fireman next to him. Peter tells Stiles to let go and hands him to his father, who presses him to his own chest, gasping and crying. 

“Dad!” Stiles coughs and reaches for his father. “Dad …”  
  
“Stiles! Oh God … Stiles!” The Sheriff sinks into the grass, hugging his son close, crying and laughing at the same time. 

Peter watches them with a strange feeling in his chest. He decides it’s time to leave. They don’t need him anymore. But when he takes a step back, the sheriff looks up at him, his eyes wide. “You saved my son’s life,” he says in wonder. “I saw you jumping with him. How …” _You should be hurt_ , is what he doesn’t say. But it lingers between them. Too loud.

“He’s a good kid. Take care of him,” Peter murmurs to break the uncomfortable silence and looks away.

“I will,” the sheriff says quietly, burying his nose in Stiles’ hair and closing his eyes. Someone comes to check on the kid and provide him with an oxygen mask. They try to give one to Peter too, but he shakes his head. 

He still watches Stiles and his father, but his eyes flicker back to the fire, and he suddenly feels very cold. “How did that happen,” he murmurs. 

The sheriff looks at him. “There’s a lot of dry wood up there,” he says calmly. But he reeks of suspicion. “Could have been an accident.”

Peter doesn’t think so. He thinks the sheriff was supposed to pay for trying to find out who set the Hale house on fire many years ago, for daring to ask unwelcome questions, and he shivers in barely suppressed rage. _I’m going to find out who did this. I’m going to find out,_ he promises to himself _._ He’s not really sure, what he’s going to do if he actually finds out the truth. In the last few months he tried hard to work on his control, on his damaged sanity, because he hates to not be in control, but sometimes, his wolf just wants to dig his claws into flesh, wants to tear apart whoever’s responsible for everything that happened. Sometimes, his wolf remembers the unbearable pain of snapped pack bonds and burned skin. Sometimes, hate is the only feeling that doesn't hurt.  
  
That side of him was quieter, when Stiles was around. He looks at the tired, heavy breathing kid. His wolf softens and Peter wonders if he has just found himself a new anchor. 


	2. Chapter 2

Peter is on the verge of cancelling his therapy appointments. Every single one of them. 

It’s a bad day. He woke up from a nightmare, tangled in the sweat-soaked blanket and alone. Of course alone. He gasped into the pillow until the images of the fire finally faded. Until the echo of screams died away. When he could breathe properly again, he stared sullenly at the destroyed sheets. His claws have basically torn them to shreds. This shows him once again, how close he is to losing control. Maybe, he thinks with a shiver, maybe he will wake up one morning, not knowing how to pull the restless raging wolf back anymore. Maybe he will unconsciously succumb to the insanity lingering in the back and will tear not his sheets, but a body to shreds. 

He can’t tell his therapist about these concerns. Not really. She doesn’t know what he is. What’s inside him. What he could turn into. In the beginning, he thought that was an advantage. She doesn’t treat him different from any other patient. And he has to admit that it was useful to talk to her about the coma, the catatonia that followed and the nightmares in which he’s burning again and again. It was good to talk and try to clean his messy mind. It was way more helpful than he has thought in the beginning, when the hospital suggested it. But of course, there are some things which his therapist just can’t understand. It’s not her fault. Since she doesn’t know about the supernatural, she can’t understand that being lonely is different for werewolves than it is for humans. 

Peter can’t tell her, that a werewolf isn’t supposed to be alone. That it is harmful, dangerous and risky. Being alone, being an Omega, means being a dead wolf walking. No pack means no safety. She can’t understand that for a werewolf, being lonely is also painful. It hurts physically. Peter’s wolf is screaming for a pack. For a task. He has always been the one teaching and protecting. Now his purpose is gone. His alpha left. She abandoned him. 

There is no other pack around and even if there was one, Peter knows he is too proud to beg. And not desperate enough yet. 

But he might be soon. It’s not only the nightmares and the loneliness that concern him. He’s also still weakened from the long hospital stay. On rainy days, his whole body aches and sometimes it takes him more than one attempt to get out of bed and on his feet. He won’t be able to do much when a hunter decides to come along or the ones responsible for the fire return, so he mostly hides in his apartment, although it nags at his proudness. But the thought of being put down like a mangy dog is worse than the feeling of being a coward. 

There are days when he wants to find an Alpha. But not to be part of their pack. No. He wants to find an Alpha to kill them and take their power. Because a part of him knows that being part of a pack is not enough. He needs _more_. He needs real power, to finally get rid of the ache and the scars and the feeling of threat. He needs to _be_ the threat. 

His therapist can’t know or understand that either. He could only tell her about the rage keeping him awake at night until sheer exhaustion makes him fall asleep. The rage directed at those who took his family away from him. Thankfully, his therapist never tried to tell him that it had to be a tragic accident. 

It wasn’t. And if everyone knew about werewolves, they would understand why it couldn’t have been an accident. There was mountain ash to keep them from escaping. There was wolfsbane in the air to weaken them. There was gasoline as well, to make the fire grow fast. It was a well prepared massacre. And it could only have been done by hunters who knew their job well enough to get away with it. 

Peter doesn’t know if they know he survived. He guesses if they knew, they would have killed him in the hospital, when he was helpless and weak. He figures they left Beacon Hills, maybe went to another town to kill another pack, another family. The thought makes him feel as sick as do the scars he sees every time he looks into a mirror. He still didn’t get used to them. They are a constant reminder what happened. A constant prove of his weakened state. Every day he hopes they finally fade. When they do, he will have to pretend he had plastic surgery. Otherwise, there might be questions. But for now, they are still there, white thick and ugly. 

The worst thing is, that they make people stare at him. Peter avoids people as much as he can nowadays because of many reasons, but of course, he still has to go outside sometimes. No one does the grocery shopping for him. 

He can hide most of the scars under long-sleeved clothes. But no matter how much he lowers his head, the scars on his face are always discovered in one way or another. People stare when he looks up at a street light. Or someone bumps into him and mumbles an apology, only to gasp when Peter perks up and exposes the scarred half of his face to widened horrified eyes. 

So he only goes to the closest supermarket once in a week. It happens to be really small and it doesn’t even come close to fulfill Peter's needs. But he can’t afford to be picky anymore. Not when he’s so vulnerable. 

He’s there right now, standing in front of the dairy goods blankly, the thought about cancelling his therapist appointment still there, bright and clear. Vaguely, he hears people talking and music playing. Some awfully happy Christmas song. Christmas … Another reason to stay at home as much as possible. There are too many memories connected to this festivity.  
  
A few weeks ago, he found the ugly Christmas sweater Derek had gifted him so many years ago. A fuzzy red thing, with a snowman sticked on it. It was just a gag gift and Peter remembers how he’d wrinkled his nose and everyone laughed. He’d threatened to burn it behind the house. But then he’d put it on anyway, because seeing the pups giggling behind his back had made him strangely happy. When he smelled the sweater, the scent of pack still clang to the fabric. First, he wanted to rip it apart. But then, he carefully folded it, put it into a box and covered it with some other old clothes he won’t ever wear again. 

Peter sighs. He tries to focus his thoughts back to the groceries. Back to his depressingly short list. But he already sees someone staring at him for a moment again, before quickly averting their eyes. 

Peter grits his teeth. He is already fighting the urge to flee, to hide in the relative safety of his apartment. 

All the gazes constantly directed at him threaten to freak his wolf out. It makes him feel tense. His wolf wants to jump at every sudden noise. He stands there for ages, his hands clenched into tight fists, not able to focus on which kind of yogurt he’s going to choose. It’s tiresome. And today, the wolf is especially angry. The anger is black and it comes threateningly close. 

For the first time in ages, Peter finds himself silently repeating the mantra he has taught Derek so long ago. _Alpha. Beta. Omega. Alpha. Beta. O -_

“Mr. Hale!” 

Peter flinches violently and can barely suppress a frightened growl. The woman beside him looks up at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. But then she sees his scars and, like everyone else, suddenly can’t walk away from him quickly enough.

“Mr. Hale!” Again. A loud voice, calling his name through the whole supermarket. He knows that voice. Peter turns around with a frown, and there he is. Stiles, jumping up and down, frantically waving and a grin spreading over his whole face. Peter carefully waves back. 

Stiles beams and then runs towards him like a flash, bumping against two people, breathing out apologies. “Mr. Hale! I knew it was you!” The kid calls when he stands in front of Peter. 

Peter smiles carefully, slowly easing the tension out of his body as best as he can. “Hello, Stiles.” 

The kid beams up at him, his eyes flickering rapidly over Peter’s face, to his almost empty shopping bag, down to his shoes, back up to his face. “What are you doing here?” Stiles asks. 

“I’m doing my groceries.” Peter bites back the _obviously_ sitting on his tongue. 

Stiles bounces back and forth on his heels. “Yeah, we too. I lost my Dad.” The boy doesn’t look too worried about that fact. 

“You should go and find him,” Peter prompts, turning back to the dairy goods. He has already forgotten what he wanted. Again. 

But Stiles doesn’t move. He watches Peter staring at the yogurts. Suddenly, the kid reaches out and takes one, putting it into Peter’s bag. Peter frowns. “What are you doing?” 

Stiles shrugs and smiles. “You seem like you don’t know what to buy, so I gave you my favourite. It’s with chocolate chips.” 

Peter doesn’t know what to say. Stiles gives him another one, rambling, “If you don’t like chocolate chips, I like this one too. It’s with mango pieces. Oh. And I like this one. And this one!” 

“Stiles,” Peter says mildly, feeling surprised when he senses a genuine smile spreading on his face. “I think I have enough yogurts now.” 

“Oh. Ok!” Stiles says brightly, rubbing the back of his head and then starting to fumble with his shirt. He's restless, but Peter feels strangely calm now. Even his wolf settles down a bit. Stiles is the first person today who doesn’t look away in horror and pity. He looks at Peter open and friendly, and Peter remembers how the kid felt in his arms, when he saved him from the fire. Fire … He shivers. It’s been two months already … Two months since he jumped out the window with Stiles.

“Stiles!” A new voice calls behind them. There’s the Sheriff, hurrying towards them. The first thing Peter notices about him, is how tired the man looks. Then, he smells him. Exhaustion, whiskey and cheap fast food. He’s still struggling, Peter thinks. Still struggling with losing his wife.  
  
“Sheriff,” he says politely.

“Mr. Hale. It’s a pleasure to see you.” The Sheriff tries a smile. But it looks more like a grimace. “I hope Stiles wasn’t rude.” 

“I wasn’t! I showed Mr. Hale my favourite yogurts,” Stiles explains.

“Alright, kid. But you know you’re not supposed to leave my side in the supermarket,” the Sheriff scolds softly. Stiles looks mildly ashamed.   
  
The Sheriff looks at Peter again and clears his throat. “I … Wanted to thank you personally for saving Stiles, but everything went so fast back then. They brought Stiles to the hospital for a check up, and when I wanted to ask for your number, you weren’t there anymore.”

Peter shifts his weight. He wants to leave the situation. Badly. “It’s alright,” he hurries to say. “I did what everyone would have done. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Let me at least invite you to dinner? It’s Christmas,” The Sheriff says carefully and Peter swallows. He knows what’s hidden in the man’s words. _You are alone. You don’t have to be alone._ But … he can’t do this …   
  
“Thank you. But that really isn’t necessary,” he says, taking a step back. But suddenly, there’s Stiles, grabbing Peter’s arm and pulling a bit. Something like a shiver runs over Peter's covered skin at the touch and he frowns. “Please, Mr. Hale,” the kid says, making huge puppy eyes. “It would be awesome if you came, I could show you my new room! We’re living in my aunt’s house until ours is repaired. Aunt Susan is in France right now. It’s a really cool room …”  
  
Peter swallows heavily again. The kid's eyes and voice are already making his wolf purr again. He likes Stiles so much … Why? Maybe because he was there at the hospital when no one else was. But still … They think he’s normal. They have no idea. They have no idea how much he could hurt them. He looks down at Stiles, then at his father who looks beaten and so tired. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He doesn’t know …  
  
“Really, it’s the least I can do,” the Sheriff says. “I can cook dinner and Stiles can show you his room. He said you liked the books he read to you at the hospital, and …”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “But Dad, you’re a horrible cook!” He blurts out.   
  
“Stiles! Don’t say that,” the Sheriff scolds, but he doesn’t sound too angry. Rather a bit embarrassed.

Stiles crosses his arms and raises his chin up defiantly. “But it’s the truth. You try to cook and then you order pizza. It’s always like that!” 

Sheriff Stilinski groans quietly.

Peter is surprised when he feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again.   
  
Stiles suddenly gasps and bounces up and down. “Oh! Oh! I bet Mr. Hale can cook, Dad!” Stiles rambles, squinting at Peter’s bag. “See, he bought fresh vegetables. Not only cans. Someone who buys escallion has to know how to cook.”   
  
The Sheriff groans again. “Stiles …” He’s definitely embarrassed now, even blushing a bit.

Peter bites his lip to keep himself from chuckling. He likes this kid more than he should. Just like his wolf. “I can cook, yes. But … I also don’t have anything against pizza,” he says, quickly pushing away another memory that wants to come up. The pack, eating pizza out of the cartons together, laughing, bickering, fighting over the last piece … That’s gone. But … He could spend time with these two. At least they don’t look at him like he is a monster. At least their friendliness is real.

At least, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to freak out and rip something - someone - apart when Stiles is around.

“I knew it!” he hears Stiles saying, with triumph clear in his voice. The kid pulls at his father’s sleeve. “Mr. Hale can cook you dinner.”  
  
The Sheriff shakes his head. “Stiles, the point was to invite him to dinner. He shouldn’t have to cook his own meal.”

“No. It’s alright. I want to,” Peter says, making the decision so fast he doesn’t even really recognize it. “When? We can exchange numbers, so that you can tell me the address.”

“Uhm. Okay. Alright,” Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “If you really want to. Here.” He scribbles his number on a notepad. Peter takes it. Stiles cheers.

“So, Bye …” Peter says with a small smile. “And thanks for the yogurts, Stiles.”

Stiles grins and reaches for Peter’s hand to shake it. It’s his scarred one. Stiles fingers close around it without hesitation, warm and soft. Peter shivers again. But it's not unpleasant. “Bye, Mr. Hale!”

Peter swallows heavily. His wolf lays down and whines in confusion.  
  
  


He goes to his therapy session after all. Mainly, because he has to sort his thoughts. He starts with, “I got an invitation to dinner. Sort of.” 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Saturday. Peter marked the day in his calendar. A bright red spot in all the clean white.

In the morning, he spends more time in the bathroom than he has the whole week. He showers and shaves carefully. He tries on five different shirts and considers buying a new one, but then he remembers _Christmas_ and how crowded the shops are going to be. In the end he settles on a turtleneck jumper anyway because it’s going to hide a lot of the scars. 

He spends the rest of the day trying to find a good recipe. Something that’s neither too special, nor too trivial. Something everyone would like. He guesses roast chicken with potatoes, vegetables and some proper sauce would suffice. When he is in the supermarket and collects the ingredients one by one, silently repeating his mantra, he realizes he could get a little gift for Stiles. It’s Christmas after all. Of course, that means going into another shop and that thought makes him shiver with discomfort, but he guesses he’s going to manage five minutes.  
  
He manages three. But at least, he gets a nice book for Stiles. A how to teach yourself magic book. He even manages to get it gift-wrapped properly, although he starts to sweat and the _thank you_ he breathes out before fleeing the shop sounds choked of. 

In the evening, Peter slowly walks the way to the address the Sheriff gave him, letting the fresh air clean his mind. He thinks about what his therapist told him. 

“What if I am going to ruin it?” He had asked her, days ago, when they were talking about the invitation.  
  
“What do you think could go wrong?” She asked back.  
  
It was one of those moments, in which Peter had to keep himself from telling her the truth. _Oh, I don’t know, I could tear them to shreds with my claws and fangs, for starters_. He considered showing her his too blue wolf eyes and imagined how she would freeze. How her eyes would turn wide and disbelieving. And he would never return for more sessions. It would just stop. He wouldn’t have to drag himself here every other day, trying to get himself to open up …  
  
His therapist waited for his answer patiently as usual and finally, Peter only shrugged and murmured, “Good things have a tendency to end bad. Because of me.” He heard the echo of Talia’s voice then. Accusing. Disappointed. _Why do you always have to ruin things? Because you can’t deal with people who aren’t you being happy? Or is it just fun for you? Why are you like this?_  
  
It took him a moment to be able to focus back on his therapist’s voice. “Try to go there without expectations. It’s a new thing and you don’t know how it’s going to end. If you go there with a certain expectation, you are going to act accordingly. Just see it as a blank canvas. It could be good. It could be bad. Either way, it’s better than staying all by yourself, isn’t it?” She asked, smiling.  
  
Right … 

What other option does he have than trying to follow her advice?  
  
Before ringing the bell, Peter tries to remind himself that they like him. They want him here. Stiles likes him. Stiles’ presence is like warm energy, surrounding him with at least a hint of what he was used to when there was still a pack around.  
  
Stiles’ father opens the door almost immediately. The mild crow’s feet forming around his eyes deepen when he smiles. “Peter,” he says. “I’m glad you came. Please come in.” On the phone, they have agreed on calling each other by their first names. Peter is much more comfortable with his actual name then he is with Mr. Hale. “Thank you,” he murmurs. 

As soon as he enters, Stiles is there, beaming at him. Peter’s wolf rumbles contently.  
  
The house smells of fir needles, oranges, cinnamon, baking powder and of _them_ , of course. 

A giant Christmas tree occupies most of the space in the living room. The red and blue baubles in it are reflecting the light. “Dad got the tree from the forest and I decorated it!” Stiles tells him proudly.  
  
Peter smiles. He swallows the memories of the younger pack members decorating a tree just like this one down. “It looks nice.” 

Stiles looks up at him intently. He reaches for Peter’s hand. The touch almost feels like an electric shock. Peter’s breath falters. He looks down at their intertwined hands and then at Stiles, who beams. “I’m going to show you my room now. Can I dad?”  
  
“You can,” Noah says, smiling mildly.  
  
Stiles cheers and leads Peter up the stairs, never letting go.  
  
Stiles’ room is filled with books. They are on the floor again, like they were in the other room, the one that was filling with smoke. The smell still lingers here.   
  
“Most of the books come from my mother. I miss her," the boy explains, sounding almost matter of factly. For a moment, the boy looks so much older than he actually is. His amber eyes are full of sorrow. “You miss your family too, don’t you?”  
  
Peter swallows. “Every day.”  
  
“I wish there was a way to bring them all back. You know, like in some of my books. Real magic. We need real magic,” Stiles says quietly, running a finger over the back of a book.  
  
Peter doesn’t say anything. He’s way past the point of wishing his family would return. It can’t happen. They are dead and gone. But he gets Stiles’ childlike innocent wishes for something that’s stronger than death. Stronger than the unfairness and cruelty raging in the world. 

Suddenly, Stiles’ stomach rumbles loudly. The boy presses a hand on it and grins, “Oopsie.”  
  
Peter smiles. “Let’s go downstairs. You can show me the kitchen.”  
  
Stiles nods. “Alright.” 

* * *

  
It’s been a while since Peter has cooked something more complex than a vegetable soup, but it works. Stiles and his father are in awe and they even demand second servings. 

They sit at the big table in the living room together, chatting and laughing. Stiles shows them some trick he saw on the internet. It doesn’t really work, but Peter and Noah both pretend they don’t notice when Stiles does something wrong. They both act surprised and Stiles preens. The boy almost falls off the chair in his excitement, when Peter hands him his present, ignoring Noah's halfhearted protests that this really wasn't neccessary. Stiles' sparkling amber eyes and his breathless _thank you_ when he holds the book in his hands are pure and warm his heart.   
  
Peter feels … good. He almost forgets his worries, the scars and the fact that he could kill Stiles and his father in seconds. The food is good, the wine too. The mood in the room is light and welcoming. 

“Don’t forget to eat your vegetables, dad!” Stiles once says in a playfully scolding voice and Noah chuckles, reaching for the salad.  
  
Peter smiles. Stiles suddenly reminds him of his youngest niece. Lou was a mischievous troublemaker. She enjoyed playing pranks on everyone. And she was good at it. So good, that sometimes, Talia said she wasn’t sure if Lou was Peter’s or hers, shaking her head.

Curious restless Lou always wanted to come with them into the forest, although she was too young. One day, she tried to follow Peter and Derek and got lost. Peter died a thousand deaths while they were searching for her in the middle of the night. They found her in a den, shaking and whimpering. He was so glad back then … So relieved. He pressed her close to his chest and told her to never do something like that again … 

Lou loved to watch butterflies. She loved to scuffle and tease, to play hide and seek. She loved gummy bears and pizza.  
  
She was a ray of sunshine. Now she’s dead. Dead like the rest of his family.  
  
Peter tried to get her through the bars of the window and he still remembers how she told him it hurt, her voice breaking in the end. He couldn’t get her through. He tried, but he couldn't. And when he sank to the floor, she wasn’t breathing anymore, feeling too light and lifeless in his arms. 

Dead. Dead like the rest. Dead like he should have been. Dead … 

Peter startles violently when outside, an ambulance drives past, sirens blaring. Sirens … Flashing light. Blue and red. A fireman bending over him. Too late. They were too late … 

Suddenly, the food tastes like ash in his mouth.  
  
Peter drops his fork and it hits the plate with a loud clang, causing both Stiles and his dad to flinch. He sits frozen, the echo of the sirens still in his head, mingling with the smell of burnt flesh and smoke. It’s everywhere. Choking him. 

Peter groans and closes his eyes. He has to get out … Somewhere, someone calls his name. Somewhere, glass shatters. He has to get out. He can’t _breathe_. He tries to get up, but his legs give way underneath him and he falls.  
  
He can’t get out … He can't move, he can’t breathe, and he can’t get out, and he can’t save them. He can’t.  
  
His wolf howls and scratches at the walls of his mind. It hurts. 

Someone calls his name again, urgently. Peter tries to focus on the voice. But in the end, it’s Stiles’ hand on his arm that brings him back. Stiles’ hand. Warm skin. And a pulse of … something. Energy. 

He opens his eyes and realizes he’s sitting on the floor. His throat feels tight and his heart is pounding. Noah is crouching in front of him, his eyes filled with worry. “You have to breathe,” he says.  
  
Peter tries. His lungs soak in the air greedily. “What happened?” He asks hoarsely, reaching up to touch his aching head. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” the Sheriff says calmly.  
  
Peter stares at Noah incredulously. He wants to laugh. Because that’s ridiculous. He doesn’t have panic attacks. He looks around and sees Stiles wiping water off the floor with a towel. Peter swallows. He did that. He ruined their dinner. Just like he has feared he would.   
  
Peter feels a rush of desperation and anger. His wolf growls and pushes forward. He has to leave … Now. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, slowly getting up, swaying on the spot momentarily. “I think it’s better if I go.”  
  
Noah looks at him, his eyes kind and his voice gentle. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You don’t have to leave. It’s cold outside. Stay. I can make a cup of tea.” 

Stiles looks between them, his eyes wide. “I can bring my blanket. It helps me when I don’t feel so good …”  
  
Peter wants to sob, because they don’t _understand_. They don’t know they are in danger. Don’t know what they let into their house. And he doesn’t get why they care so much. It must be pity. They know he’s all alone. They’ve seen him crumbling. Humans tend to be very sentimental on Christmas, don’t they. 

_Why do you always have to ruin everything? Why are you like this?_ That voice again … Whispering in the back of his mind. Peter grits his teeth. He’s on the verge of losing control. He can feel it. The wolf is restless under his skin, scratching and pushing, still rumbling. It’s only a matter of moments until his eyes start to glow. He turns away, hiding his face and digging nails - already sharpening - into the palm of his hand. “I … Thank you. But I have to go. Thanks for your kindness. For the invitation. I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He walks out the room, walks through the hallway towards the exit. His name is echoing after him. He ignores the call. He opens the door and runs.  
  


* * *

  
Peter doesn’t come very far. He leans against a tree after a while, breathing heavily. He’s partly shifted already, not able to hold it back anymore. He’s glad the street is empty. He’s going to run back to his apartment and curl up in bed, sweating this out and putting himself back together in peace. And after … Maybe after, he really should leave this town … 

Suddenly, he hears footsteps coming closer, ripping him out of his thoughts. Peter sniffs the air and groans in disbelief. “Stiles?” 

“Peter!” The kid comes closer, slightly breathless. “You forgot your jacket!” 

Peter grits his teeth. They are sharp now and he nicks his lower lip, tasting blood. He tries to pull the wolf back, but he doesn’t want to. He wants out, wants to run away from the baggage of emotional pain.  
  
Stiles is close now, his breaths quick. “Peter?”  
  
“Go, Stiles,” Peter tells him. _Just go …_  
  
But Stiles, stubborn Stiles, doesn’t go. Instead, he circles Peter and comes even closer. And then, he gasps.  
  
Peter knows what the kid has seen. He knows his eyes are too blue, gleaming in the darkness. He closes them, digging the claws of one hand into the bark of the tree he’s leaning against.  
  
Stiles is still there, frozen in place. He exhales shakily. “I knew … I knew you were different,” the boy says. There’s not even a hint of fear in his voice. Only wonder and surprise. “I felt it.” 

Peter frowns. It’s hard to focus on Stiles’ words. “What do you mean you felt it?”   
  
“In the hospital. When I touched you, there was something … something surrounding you. Something that felt, uh, different. Felt wild. I felt it again, when you saved me from the fire. When you jumped. It’s a wolf, right? You’re a werewolf?”  
  
Peter’s breath hitches. “How …”

“You are!” Stiles sounds triumphically. And then, more to himself, he murmurs, “I knew it was real … I knew it! I believed.”  
  
Peter doesn't know what the words mean, but he knows that's not the typical reaction. “Why aren’t you scared?” He asks, opening his eyes again. He looks at Stiles incredulously. The boy smells of curiosity and awe. There’s still no fear. 

“I don’t think you’re going to hurt me,” Stiles says, seriously and open. 

“I don’t want to,” Peter nods, grimacing when he feels something painful tugging at his chest. “But … I’m not fully in control. The fire, the coma, everything … It’s making it difficult to control the wolf sometimes. You have to … You can’t be here. You have to stay away, you hear me?” I’m dangerous … 

Stiles bites his lip. “I’m not scared. And I don’t think I should leave right now.” He looks thoughtful. Older again. 

Peter groans. Another wave of pain rushes through him. “Stiles. Leave!” 

Instead of doing as he’s told, Stiles comes even closer. He reaches out. The wolf growls in confusion. Peter is frozen in place, completely stunned by the boy’s fearlessness. Stiles’ hand comes to rest on Peter’s scarred cheek. Warm. Soft. _Solid_. 

And all of a sudden, the wolf freezes, stops scrambling for control.  
  
Peter’s breath hitches. He carefully leans into the touch. It feels … strange. It feels like Stiles is giving him something. Like there’s a connection between them. Peter looks at Stiles and frowns. 

He doesn’t understand …

Stiles lets go after a moment, frowning and looking at his hand. He turns it to all sides and shakes it slightly.  
  
Peter takes a closer look at the boy, with the wolf’s eyes. And he sees …  
  
There’s something around Stiles. It comes from his hand and surrounds his body. A kind of crackling energy. Like electricity, but not white and painful, more like soft and floating. Still, there’s some sort of power laying behind it. Power, that might be dangerous. Explosive. Peter frowns when it hits him. 

Stiles is not entirely human either. He’s _something_. 

“Your wolf is calmer now,” Stiles states and looks surprised about his own words. He looks at his own hand and tilts his head. “It feels strange …”  
  
Peter swallows. “You have to go home now, Stiles.”  
  
His thoughts are racing. What does this all mean? It’s not the first time he felt something like electric tension when Stiles is close. Is Stiles something supernatural? He needs answers. He needs someone who knows about these things.  
  
And Peter knows exactly who can give him answers.  
  
Deaton. He has to see Deaton. Given that the emissary still lives in Beacon Hills. Peter hasn’t thought about him in ages … 

He clears his throat, reaching for Stiles’ hand. “I’ll bring you back to your father. He’s going to be worried. You can’t just run after me, Stiles.” _This world is dangerous … So dangerous and cruel, you can’t even imagine._ _  
_  
Stiles sighs but nods. “Are you going to tell him?” He asks wide-eyed.  
  
“Of course not. And you’re not going to tell him either,” Peter says sternly. _He’s going to never let me into his house again. He’s going to tell Stiles to stay away from me._ It hurts to think about it like this. But it’s reality. He’s the monster. Not to Stiles, for some reason. But to almost anyone else, he is.

“Come on,” Peter says quietly. He takes Stiles’ hand, shudders and leads the kid back to the house. They meet the Sheriff on the way. Noah looks both furious and worried. He hugs Stiles, telling him he’s grounded for at least three days. He looks at Peter and something in his eyes shifts. Softens. “Do you want to come back in?”  
  
Peter shakes his head. “Thank you. I’m tired. I just want to go home.”  
  
“Alright,” Noah nods. “You’re always welcome here.”  
  
Stiles looks up at Peter from where he’s pressed against Noah’s side, and his eyes shine with knowing. Peter swallows and tries a small smile, turning around and leaving, not really knowing what to think. Or feel. 

Someone knows … 

* * *

“Peter.” Deaton is obviously surprised to see him. His calm eyes linger on the scars for a moment, before he looks away, down on the papers he’s been seeing through. “How can I help you?” 

Peter is glad Deaton doesn’t ask questions about the fire. About the pack. But then, it has always been kind of difficult to know what the man was thinking. Or planning. However, Peter has learned to trust him. Deaton has always been there. Has always been around the house, as the Hale pack’s emissary and healer. 

Peter clears his throat. “I need your opinion on something.”  
  
Deaton looks at him attentively. “Yes?”  
  
Peter hesitates. “There’s a boy … His name is Stiles. He’s the Sheriff’s son.”  
  
“Stiles … Yes. His father and I, we are kind of friends,” Deaton says, frowning. “What about him?”  
  
“Well. Stiles visited me in the hospital. When I was in a coma. He talked and read to me. I felt like … like the wolf was connecting to him. Like to an anchor,” Peter explains, noticing how Deaton’s eyes widen slightly. “When I was well enough to leave the hospital, I didn’t see him for a while. But then the Sheriff’s house was on fire …” He tells Deaton about the invitation to dinner, about his panic attack and Stiles finding out he’s a werewolf all by his own. He tells him about the strange kind of energy he feels around Stiles and how the kid’s touch had been enough to calm his raging wolf down. 

Deaton arches his brows, when he’s done with his story. For the first time Peter can remember, the emissary looks … openly stunned. He watches as Deaton thinks for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. Finally, he says, “Stiles is your anchor.”  
  
Peter swallows. He’s not really surprised about this. “I figured that much, yes. But what about his … about the power I feel when he’s close? Is he magic?”  
  
Deaton hesitates. “He _could_ be. How does it feel to be touched by him?”  
  
“It feels like an electric shock. But it doesn’t hurt. It feels, like energy is flowing through the connection. The energy surrounds him. It feels like it’s reaching for me.”  
  
Deaton hums. “It could be that you two are connected since he saved you from losing your mind and you saved him from dying. You formed a connection. I think … he might be your soulmate. When Stiles was there, to anchor you, the wolf must have bonded with him.”  
  
Peter freezes. “What? But … He’s a child.”  
  
Deaton smiles tightly. “Don’t worry. Not all soulmates are romantic partners. There is a huge share of platonic ones as well. The wolf doesn’t care about age or gender or anything else when he wants to bond. But if you two are soulmates … that involves some risks. And it still doesn’t explain the energy that surrounds him. I’m going to try to get Stiles here, to take a look at him.”  
  
“Thank you.” Peter already turns to leave. But Deaton’s voice holds him back. “Peter.”  
  
He stops. “Yes?” 

“What are you going to do about your current … situation?” Deaton asks. When Peter only frowns, he says, “You have no Alpha. No pack.” His words are statements. Facts. The question he’s not asking is lingering between them.  
  
Peter grits his teeth. “I’m managing.” 

Deaton looks at him thoughtfully. “You might be managing for now. But you can’t manage without a proper pack forever. You know that. Better than I do. You grew up with this knowledge …” 

“Well,” Peter says bitterly. “There’s hardly anything I can do about it.”  
  
“Why don’t you call the rest of your family?”  
  
Derek and Laura … Peter feels cold. They abandoned him. Why should he call them? They weren’t there when he needed them the most. 

“You could ask them to return. You could re-build the pack. This town has been your family's territory for ages,” Deaton urges.  
  
Peter scoffs. His irritation grows. “I don’t think they would want to return,” he mumbles. Before the veterinarian can answer, he turns and leaves, his steps fast and firm. The thoughts are racing inside his mind. It’s all way too much. He doesn’t know what to think about first. So he rather feels numb. 


	4. Chapter 4

Deaton doesn’t have to wait long for the opportunity to take a closer look at Stiles.  
  
Noah Stilinski comes into the Animal Clinic a few days after Peter’s visit, asking Deaton to keep an eye on Stiles for a few hours. Stiles is pouting, letting go of his father’s hand as soon as they enter. “I want to see the murder!” He says, crossing his arms defiantly.  
  
Noah sighs. “We’ve talked about this, Stiles.” He turns to Deaton. “I’m sorry I have to ask you again, but at work all hell broke loose. They found a body in the woods.” Noah grimaces. “Well, only one half of a female body. We’re still searching for the other half.” 

Deaton frowns. A body. Cut in half. That rings certain bells. “Do you already have a suspicion?”  
  
“Since the body is basically mangled, I’d say animal attack. Maybe a mountain lion.” The expression on Noah’s face is almost hopeful.   
  
“A mountain lion,” Deaton repeats. He already knows the police is going into the wrong direction. But of course, they can’t know that. They don’t know why someone would cut a body in half and bury it. Deaton does. He smiles at Stiles who still looks angry. “It really is no problem at all, Noah. I’m sure Stiles would be interested in helping me examining a ball python.” 

Stiles perks up and gasps. His eyes widen immediately. Gone is every bit of annoyance and reluctance. “A python? Awesome! Can I touch it?”  
  
Deaton nods. “You can. It’s not dangerous,” he assures, when Noah’s tired smile drops slowly. “Why don’t you already go into the backroom and take a look at it?” He encourages Stiles, who cheers and runs out the room.  
  
Noah looks at Deaton gratefully. “Thank you.”  
  
Deaton nods. “You’re welcome. I know how stressful your job can be. And a crime scene is obviously not a place for a child.” 

Noah sighs heavily. “Ask Stiles about it and he’s going to tell you that age doesn’t matter when it comes to being a detective. But … Actually, he has another hyperfixation at the moment. It’s kind of .. strange. He wanted me to borrow every single book about werewolves and wolves he could find at the library. And I’m not sure if I’m happy about my ten year old son reading about monsters. I told him. And he was really offended, asking me if I ever met an actual werewolf.” He shakes his head.

Deaton chuckles quietly. “Well. When you think about it, wolves were demonized over centuries. Think about Grimms' Fairy Tales. Actually, wolves are intelligent, social animals who mostly stay away from humans. Their pack behavior is quite fascinating. I can see why Stiles would be interested in them.”

Noah hums. “I just hope he won’t be having nightmares about it." He rubs the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. "I have to leave now, thank you again. Uh, I’ll collect him around early evening?”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Deaton watches after the Sheriff and wonders what Noah would say if he knew his son was now bonded to an actual, very real werewolf.  
  


* * *

As expected, Stiles is fascinated by the ball python. It’s a huge exemplar with light brown blotches all over its smooth skin. “It’s not damp at all,” Stiles says, carefully stroking a finger over the snake’s back. “It’s completely dry.”  
  
Deaton hums and puts the snake back into its terrarium. He’s been keeping an attentive eye on Stiles the whole time, but didn’t really notice anything strange. He starts to think that Peter's presence might trigger whatever magic is lurking inside Stiles. “A snakes’ scales are actually made of the same material as our hair and fingernails. Keratin,” he explains.  
  
“Ooooh, cool,” Stiles says, looking at his own short fingernails in awe.

“Maybe you will become a vet after all," Deaton muses, smiling at the boy.  
  
Stiles scrunches his nose. “Nah, I’m going to be a detective,” He says, sitting on the edge of the examination table, swinging his legs. “I’m going to help figuring out the most difficult unsolvable crimes. Like …” He hesitates, biting his lip. “I would figure out who caused the fire.”

“The fire?”  
  
“The fire that killed Mr. Hale’s family. I looked at the files, when my Dad recovered them and left them on his desk,” Stiles explains, sounding at least a little bit guilty. 

“The police said it was an electrical malfunction," Deaton says calmly. 

“Yes I know, but don’t you think it’s strange there were so many people in this house but they didn’t try to get out? They must have noticed the smoke. Must have smelled it. Something kept them from escaping, and since Mr. Hale is … Oh.” Stiles quickly clasps his hands over his mouth, his eyes widening. Deaton smiles. Now is apparently the time to reveal he knows exactly what Stiles is talking about. “Since Mr. Hale is what?”  
  
Stiles shakes his head wildly. “I can’t tell!” He says, muffled through his hands. “It’s supposed to be a secret.” 

Deaton pulls a chair in front of the examination table and sits down. “It’s alright, Stiles. I know.”  
  
Stiles makes a surprised noise and his eyebrows arch up. He slowly lowers his hands, frowning. “You do?”  
  
Deaton nods. “I know that almost all Hales were werewolves. I know that mountain ash and wolfsbane kept them from escaping the fire. I know Peter could only survive his injuries because of his supernatural healing abilities.”  
  
Stiles looks at him attentively, his surprise quickly changing into fascination mixed with a hint of relief he isn’t alone with his knowledge. “I read about wolfsbane in the books. So it’s all real? Werewolves do exist and so do other supernatural magic things?”  
  
Deaton nods.  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath. “My mother always said, there was more. She always told me to believe,” he says quietly and Deaton finds that interesting. Maybe, he should dig into Claudia Stilinski's history sometime. “How did you find out?” The boy asks him.  
  
A hint of sadness nags at Deaton. He sighs. “My family has always been connected with the Hale pack. Usually, every werewolf pack has someone who plays the role of a healer, mediator and peacemaker. A so called emissary. That was my family’s role. I’m human, but I do know how to manipulate mountain ash or how to use herbs to heal supernatural injuries.”  
  
“This is so cool,” Stiles says, watching him with open curiosity. “Could you teach me?”  
  
Deaton smiles. It’s amazing how fast the boy takes every new information in. He doesn’t even hesitate to believe. “I can teach you a lot, yes.”  
  
“Could I be an emissary too?” Stiles asks, his eyes sparkling.  
  
Deaton hesitates. “Theoretically yes. But … I think you are more.”  
  
Stiles frowns. His legs stop swinging. “More?” He asks carefully.  
  
Deaton nods. “Peter talked to me about what he feels when you’re around him. You two seemed to have formed a bond. You see, a werewolf has an actual wolf inside them. They are two separate beings sharing one body. A wolf usually needs an anchor, someone or something that can settle them down, when they get agitated and wild around the full moon. You’re Peter’s anchor now, because you helped to calm his wolf down, when he was in a coma, unable to move.”  
  
“Oh.” Stiles chews on his lip. Deaton sees understanding in his young eyes and feels content to proceed with his explanation. “And there’s more between you. The wolf chose you as soulmate. But we can talk about this another time. For now … I want to talk to you about the things Peter feels around you. He says, he can sense a certain kind of energy around you.”  
  
“Energy?” Now, Stiles starts to look a bit uncomfortable. “What does this mean?”

“Do you ever get the feeling, that something is pulling at you? Or do strange things happen when you feel strong emotions?” Deaton asks him.  
  
Stiles is silent for a moment. He thinks, a deep frown making him look older. Suddenly, his eyes light up. “I … Uh, I once shattered a glass, when I was angry? I was so very angry, because I didn’t want my mum to die and I wanted the sickness gone. The glass on my mum’s night table shattered without anyone touching it.”  
  
Deaton nods slowly. That’s a hint. “Alright. Anything else?”  
  
“Hm, when Peter had the panic attack at our house and left, I followed after him. I somehow knew where to find him, and when I did, I could feel something inside him screaming. So I reached out. But not with my hands, you know?” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “It was pretty strange. I just thought, I have to reach him somehow and I did. I felt the screaming stop and the, uh, the air changed. It was … First it was heavy and grey and then it was light.”  
  
Deaton is both amazed and a bit startled. Stiles is describing a kind of magic that is going beyond a druid’s abilities. He will have to investigate about this. He is going to need his oldest books about magic … “Thank you for telling me, Stiles,” he says.  
  
“Am I a wizard? Like Harry Potter?” Stiles asks, excitement making his eyes sparkle. 

Deaton smiles. “Not exactly like Harry Potter, but you definitely have magic. We will have to observe, what exactly it is you can do.” He hesitates. His next words are chosen carefully. “Magic can be a great thing, Stiles. But it’s also dangerous. It’s always dangerous. It needs to be channeled carefully.”  
  
Stiles nods, smiling brightly. “Now I can become a wizard detective,” he says and laughs. Deaton is both amused and a bit worried, because he has the feeling that this is going to cause ripples and eventually, waves. 

* * *

Peter wakes up with a gasp, holding both hands in front of his face, staring at them.  
  
They are clean. They are not soaked in blood and dirt. 

He exhales a relieved sob.  
  
This dream … It has been different.  
  
He has been chasing someone through the forest. A shadow ... His field of vision was red and blurry at the edges. He remembers feeling the thrill of the hunt, the urge to capture his prey.  
  
The shadow was fast, but he was faster. He was fast and relentless, chasing the shadow until it was in front of him, finally reachable. 

He lunged at the shadow and dug his claws into flesh. The shadow was a woman. She cried out and turned her head to look up at him and he recognized her.  
  
It was Laura.

It isn’t the first time Peter dreamt about her or Derek. But it was never like this. He never dreamt about hunting and killing one of them. He blames his wolf. Blames the close full moon. Blames being hurt and abandoned, and tries to forget it. 

Peter focuses on the message of Deaton instead. It just tells him to come to the Animal Clinic when possible. He figures Deaton found out something about Stiles and his curiosity makes him hurry there.  
  
Deaton tells him Stiles is indeed magical, but he’s not sure what he actually is. “He seems to be capable of manipulating things without touching them, and he can apparently sense supernatural aura and influence it.”  
  
Peter blinks. “So … He’s really powerful, isn’t he?”  
  
Deaton hesitates. “He could be. In the future, when he learns how to control it. But we’ll have to keep an eye on him all the time. This whole thing could very easily end in a disaster.”  
  
Peter nods. He thinks about Stiles’ father and how much longer they can risk not telling him. But Deaton cuts through his thoughts with a careful voice. “There’s something else I have to talk to you about, Peter. They found a body in the woods. A woman. Cut in half.” 

Peter startles and frowns. Cut in half. That’s very specific. It doesn’t leave much space for interpretation. “Hunters?” He asks, surprised. “I didn’t notice any other werewolves around here. They all stayed away after the fire.”  
  
Deaton shrugs. “The Sheriff thinks, or rather hopes, it was an animal attack. I hope I can get some information about the body. If it’s someone we know … But in any case, you have to be careful. If there are hunters in the town and they look out for Omegas, you might be in danger.” 

Peter knows the vet is right. He still worries more about Stiles and his abilities. He thinks about them while he goes home and doesn’t even notice the man following him almost the whole way to his apartment. 

* * *

Stiles can’t sleep. 

It’s not new to him. He’s familiar to long evenings, spent writhing on the bed and trying to stop thinking. Today it’s especially hard. One of the books his father got him is laying on the pillow. He doesn’t like it. Somehow, every book tries to make werewolves looking like the bad guys, the villains of the story.  
  
Unicorns are supernatural too. Or pixies. And Stiles has never read a story about a rabid unicorn hurting random people. 

Deaton didn’t talk about werewolves like they were evil. Stiles is sure Mr. Hale is not evil. And yet, there are all these books, filled with images of werewolves mangling children and helpless women and later being slaughtered by hunters.  
  
Stiles’ thoughts always wander back to Deaton’s words. And to the fact, that Stiles has magic. Actual magic. If only he knew how to activate it … Right now, he feels pretty magicless and rather tired.  
  
An owl screams outside and Stiles flinches. He yawns and groans when he realizes he has to pee. He can’t fall asleep when he has to pee. So he reluctantly gets up, shivering when his bare feet meet the cold wooden floor. He uses the toilet and goes back to his room, but then he notices there’s still light coming from the living room.  
  
Stiles carefully opens the door and pads inside. The sight that greets him makes him feel sad. His dad is sitting slumped at the table, his head on his arms. Beside him stands a bottle. The smell is sour. 

Stiles grabs the blanket from the couch and carefully wraps it around his dad’s shoulders. He doesn’t want him to feel cold.  
  
When he reaches for the bottle, intending to put it into the trash, his stomach clenches suddenly and a wave of pain rushes through it, up to his chest. He gasps and bends over, putting his hands on his belly.  
  
Suddenly, he knows what’s happening. It’s bright and clear in his head.  
  
Peter.  
  
Peter is in danger. 

Stiles opens the front door and runs. 

* * *

They catch him in his own apartment. In the apartment he has been hiding all this time, feeling relatively safe.  
  
Peter knows he’s been stupid. The knowledge follows him when he inhales a cloud of wolfsbane gas and collapses, coughing. 

For days, he has been feeling like someone observed him. Like someone was following him with their eyes. But then, he always feels watched these days, so he didn’t really pay attention to it. He had to much to think about. 

That was a mistake. It was stupid. He should have listened to his wolf more. Now it’s too late. He’s packless, weak and vulnerable. 

The fog of wolfsbane around him is enough to make him harmless and he can’t even shift when the hunters step into his field of vision. He tries to lunge at them, only to collapse back on the ground groaning in pain, when something cuts into him - a knife? Someone's boot presses down on his back to keep him down and Peter feels the prick of a needle.   
  
He has enough strength left to wonder why they don’t kill him right away, before he passes out. 

* * *

  
When Peter comes to, he can’t move. He feels like he’s floating and realizes they drugged him. His hands are tied together with rope soaked in wolfsbane and his back is leaning against a cold rough wall. He’s in some abandoned alleyway, the group of hunters standing around him, smoking cigarettes. They are like ragged shadows in the dim light. 

“That was surprisingly easy,” one of the shadows says. He’s wearing a cowboy hat.  
  
“Almost a bit disappointing,” remarks another hunter and they chuckle. 

“She’s going to be satisfied for once. Another Hale she can delete from her list.” 

“I initially thought they all died in the fire anyway.” 

“No. Kate said two weren't in the house and that one survived but was in a coma for years."  
  
Peter frowns. _Kate_. That name rings a bell somewhere in his wolfsbane addled mind. Kate Argent? He shivers. Kate Argent. Argent. Now … everything settles into place. It all makes sense. He feels cold, then sick. _She_ did it. She burned his family. Kate Argent. Chris Argent's sister. 

“Why didn’t she kill him right away? Would have saved labor.” Cowboy hat asks, sounding annoyed. He kicks Peter’s leg and his wolf snarls, waking up with sudden ferocity. “Why can’t we just cut him into half right here.” 

One of the other hunters shrugs. “You know her. She wanted to have some fun. She enjoys the thrill.”

Cowboy hat scoffs. “This isn’t about fun or thrill. It’s about business. It’s about catching and killing monsters. One day, her _fun_ is going to backfire at her.” 

“Maybe. But for now … You know where the money comes from. And trust me, you don’t want to be on Kate Argent’s red list.” 

Cowboy hat throws his cigarette into the gutter. “Whatever. Let’s go. Get it in the trunk. I don’t want blood on my cushions.” 

The men move, but suddenly, there’s a noise. Steps approach. They sound fast and strangely soft.

“Who’s there?” Cowboy hat calls out, while another hunter already reaches for his weapon.  
  
The sound of hurried breaths comes closer, and one of the hunters makes a noise that sounds half surprised half annoyed. “Just some kid. Shit, man.”  
  
Peter perks up. He tries to get clear enough to look. To see more than shadows. And what he sees, makes him feel even colder. There’s Stiles, standing at the exit of the alley, barefooted and dressed in a soft pyjama. The kid is breathing heavily, and he’s staring at the group of hunters with wide eyes.  
  
 _Stiles_ , Peter thinks vaguely. _No …_

“Leave him alone,” Stiles says and the hunters look at each other, puzzled.  
  
“Go home, boy,” Cowboy hat says, making a gesture with his weapon. “You have no idea what’s going on here. We’re the good guys, I promise. Just go home and forget about it.”  
  
“Leave him alone!” Stiles calls out louder, clenching his hands into fists.

“Shut him up, Hank,” an older hunter says, his voice hoarse. “He’s going to draw attention.”

Cowboy hat, _Hank_ , sighs. “Come on, boy. I don’t want to get unfriendly. Just go home. Go to bed. Where you belong.”  
  
Stiles stares at him and for a moment, Peter hopes he’s just going to do what the hunter tells him to. But then, one of the flickering street lights suddenly shatters. The hunters flinch and look up, their eyes wide. “What the hell?!” Hank yells. Another street light shatters and Stiles approaches the hunters, his eyes wild. “Let him go,” he says again. Hank grits his teeth. “I told you to go home, boy.” He makes a step towards Stiles, but is suddenly pushed backwards by an invisible force. He stumbles against the wall with a surprised grunt. The other hunters stare, their eyes filled with stunned confusion. Stiles sways a bit, his eyes getting clearer. He looks at Peter and his expression changes into something fearful. “Stiles,” Peter whispers. The boy sobs, looking like the young innocent and scared child he is, and runs towards him. He falls on his knees, pressing his face against Peter’s chest. Peter wishes he could tell Stiles it’s going to be alright. He feels more alert now. The rage and the appearance of his anchor and soulmate is pushing the wolfsbane away. But he won’t be able to fight a whole group of hunters.  
  
Hank already recovered from his shock, staring at Stiles and Peter with disgust in his eyes. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I figure that boy isn’t human as well, so …” His eyes sparkle in mean glee and Peter growls at him, pressing Stiles closer to him.  
  
One of the hunters inhales sharply. “Hank. He’s a fucking child.” 

Hank scoffs and turns to the other man to say something. The words never leave his mouth. He’s thrown against the wall again, this time by a large shadow. The shadow growls loudly and goes through the hunters like a storm, knocking them out with remarkable speed. Peter can only stare. 

The fight is over fast. The shadow crouches and breathes heavily. Peter sniffs the air and even though there’s still an awful amount of wolfsbane blinding him, he can smell enough to catch the familiar scent … 

“Derek?” He asks, shocked. 

The shadow turns to face Peter and one of the remaining lights fall on a face, so familiar yet strange to Peter. it is his nephew Derek. He’s older. His features are sharper and his body leaner. His eyes more serious. He comes closer wordlessly, cutting through the ropes around Peter’s hands. Then, he backs away again, staring down at Peter, his eyes wide. They suddenly flash crimson red and Peter’s breath hitches. He feels his own eyes flashing blue in return, while a thousand questions race through his head. “You’re the Alpha now? But what about …”

“Laura?” Derek asks, and his sister’s name ends in a growl. His eyes fill with pain. “She’s dead.” 

Peter swallows. Laura. Dead. He didn’t even feel it. How is it possible that she’s dead? He suddenly remembers Deaton’s words about the body in the woods and something clicks into place painfully. The body was Laura’s. But how did she even get here? Why did she return?! He opens his mouth to ask, but Derek is faster. “Did you kill her?” He asks, his voice strained.  
  
Peter freezes. “What?”  
  
 _“Did you kill her!”_ Derek yells, his eyes flickering red, and Stiles whimpers into Peter’s chest. 

Peter presses him closer, stares at Derek and slowly shakes his head. “No.” _I dreamt about it. But I didn’t do it. Maybe the wolf wanted to do it earlier, when I was close to insanity, but now, things are different. I would have never let us do it._ He doesn't understand why Derek would even think such a thing. He'll have to ask later. 

Derek tilts his head and Peter knows he’s listening to his heartbeat. A heartbeat that doesn’t falter. Derek exhales shakily. He seems both confused and relieved. But now, he also looks tired. Beaten down. He meets Peter’s eyes for a moment, then looks away, clenching his hands into fists. 

“We should talk,” Peter says quietly. Derek nods. He looks at Stiles and frowns. “What about this kid? What is he even doing here?”  
  
Peter sighs. “This is Stiles. He’s my anchor and soulmate. Oh. And he’s also magic. He might have saved me from being thrown into a trunk and carted off to somewhere else.”  
  
Derek’s eyes widen in shock. “What? How ...”  
  
“He’s been there for me, for starters. Other than you or Laura.” Peter can’t keep the accusation and the bitterness out of his voice and sees Derek flinching. “I … Listen, I didn’t want to leave,” his nephew says, his voice low now. He’s still avoiding Peter’s eyes. “But Laura … I couldn’t stay. I did something, uncle Peter. I did something and I don’t know if you will forgive me. I don’t know if I ever can forgive myself.”  
  
Peter frowns. Derek is rambling. He doesn’t understand what his nephew is trying to tell him, but what’s more pressing right now, is Stiles, who is shaking in the cold and still crying. Peter clears his throat. “We can talk about everything later. I have to get Stiles home to his father now. Stay here. I’ll come back.”  
  
“Alright,” Derek mumbles. He leans back against a wall and looks tired again. Neither his posture nor his expression is that of an Alpha and Peter knows they’ll have to do something about that. Or they will be dead soon. Both of them.  
  
He gets up, wrapping both arms around Stiles and leaving the place, leaving it to Derek to do something about the scattered hunter bodies while he’s gone.

* * *

It takes a while to get to the Stilinski’s house. Peter still feels the wolfsbane pulling him down. It’s getting better, but it will take a visit to Deaton later, to get everything of it out of his bloodstream. However, the hunters clearly didn’t intent to kill him with it. They just wanted him to be docile. Peter figures they wanted to bring him to Kate Argent and he has to pull his wolf back violently, when a wave of new fresh rage hits him. Now he knows who is responsible for everything. But it has to wait. There’s Stiles now. He has to take care of Stiles first …

The Sheriff meets them halfway, looking haunted and shocked. “God, Stiles! Why did you ran, what happened, what … what did you … what is …” He stops, completely confused, clearly not knowing if he should sound and look angry or worried. Or both. 

Peter hesitates. He remembers Talia’s words. _It’s always better if they know_. Sheriff Stilinski has a magical son who is the platonic soulmate and anchor of a werewolf. He’s going to find out sooner or later. He could find out in a worse situation, Peter figures. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “There are some things you have to know about, Noah.”  
  
“What?” The Sheriff asks, and sounds even more confused now.  
  
Peter wordlessly flashes his eyes and bares his fangs, and Noah gasps. He freezes, staring into Peter’s eyes, then at Stiles who has fallen asleep in the werewolf’s arms a while ago. The Sheriff blinks, forms a surprised oh with his mouth, and then, after a last look into Peter’s gleaming eyes, collapses silently to the ground. 

Peter thinks he has seen worse reactions.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter hisses when Deaton treats his knife wound, that still refuses to heal properly, with some too sweet smelling herbs. It burns and the sickening smell of wolfsbane still lies in the air. Peter tries to focus on Noah instead, who is laying on the couch, still unconscious. Stiles is upstairs in his room, fast asleep. 

“Are you sure it was wise to confront him with the truth like that?” Deaton asks mildly, searching through his bag and pulling out some bandages. 

Peter shrugs. “In my experience, sudden and fast works much better than slow and gradually. The latter gives them too much time to either grab a weapon or to convince themselves it’s just a bad joke.” 

Deaton chuckles softly while bandaging the wound. “So, Derek came back?” 

“He did,” Peter says curtly. _And I don’t know how to feel about it …_  
  
Deaton hums but doesn’t say anything else, keeping his thoughts to himself. The next moment, Noah groans quietly. He opens his eyes and tries to sit up, one hand reaching for his forehead where cold sweat has gathered. Deaton goes to him and lays a hand on Noah’s shoulder comfortingly. “Easy. Don’t move too fast or you’ll get dizzy.”  
  
The Sheriff blinks up at Deaton, confusion filling his eyes. “What … what happened? Why are you here, Alan?”  
  
"Do you remember anything?" Deaton asks him. 

“I remember searching for Stiles because he wasn’t in his room. I … I think I had a nightmare,” Noah mumbles, finally managing to sit up and leaning against the cushions behind him heavily.  
  
Deaton shakes his head. “No. You didn’t dream. Everything you think you remember has really happened.”  
  
Noah frowns and his eyes flicker through the room. They fall on Peter sitting at the table and widen momentarily. Peter sees the hint of fear appearing in them and fights the urge to bolt. This is exactly what he has been afraid of … The moment Noah discovers what he truly is and his reaction.  
  
“Your eyes,” Noah says, his voice hoarse. “They were … But no.” He barks out a short laugh. “I really must have drunk too much this time.” He sounds guilty now. Peter starts to feel bad for him.  
  
Deaton clears his throat. “Like I said. It was all real. Peter?” 

Peter sighs. He reluctantly lets the wolf forward again, flashing his eyes, showing a hint of his fangs and exposing his claws.  
  
Noah looks like he’s going to pass out again. His face is white and his eyes wide. His breath quickens. He reeks of confusion and fear. But there’s also a hint of will to fight. Noah’s eyes flicker to the uniform hanging over a chair, no doubt hiding the holster holding his gun. That equally impresses and saddens Peter. He’s aware of what he’s destroying with the truth right now. He’s destroying the only kind of relationship he had in the last few years. 

Deaton obviously noticed Noah’s glimpse towards the uniform too. He brings the Sheriff’s focus back to him. “Peter is a werewolf. Werewolves and other supernatural creatures exist. I know this is a lot to take in, Noah. But I promise there is no need to be scared. You know fairy tales and myths, not the truth. The truth is complex. Let me - us - explain. It’s important. Listen and try to understand for the sake of Stiles …”

Noah perks up. “Stiles? What does my son have to do with this?” He looks very concerned for a moment and also wary, his eyes flickering back to Peter. Peter can’t blame him. He pulls the wolf back, looking away. 

Deaton clears his throat. “We believe that Stiles is magically gifted, Noah. He’s also connected to Peter in a certain way. Like I said, it’s a lot to take in ...”  
  
“Stiles. Magically gifted,” Noah croaks, disbelief dripping from his voice. “I’m really not dreaming?”  
  
Deaton smiles tightly. “No.” 

The Sheriff swallows heavily. “But … werewolves, magic, that’s just … it’s _fiction_ , for god’s sake! Just stories,” he says weakly, obviously still trying to convince himself this is either a bad dream or a horrible joke.

Deaton is still patient. Peter can’t help but admiring the vet’s way of gently persuading Noah into at least considering everything to be real, with his firm but gentle voice. “Has there never been a case that seemed strange to you? Have there never been moments in which you thought you don’t - can’t - see the whole picture? Have there never been any signs when it comes to Stiles? Things you couldn’t explain?”  
  
Noah’s eyes become distant. He starts to think. Peter can see it. But when the Sheriff talks again, he doesn’t really answer Deaton’s question. “So this is why Stiles wanted all these books? This is why he … God. I can’t believe this!” His breath quickens and for a moment, Peter fears he will start to hyperventilate. 

Deaton lays a hand on Noah’s shoulder again. “Try to take some deep breaths. Listen to me. It’s going to be fine …”  
  
Noah snorts, but he starts to breathe more evenly. He shakes his head and runs a shaking hand over his pale sweaty face. “Fine? I … Okay. This … this is too much.” He looks at Peter directly. “What do you want from my son? From me?”  
  
Peter swallows. He tries to sound as sincere as possible when he says, “I would protect Stiles and you with my life. Please. Let me explain ...” 

Noah looks at him and for a moment, Peter has hope. For a moment, he thinks the Sheriff is going to nod and is going to listen. But the next moment, he sees Noah's face falling, sees his eyes filling with more fear than confusion. He hides his head in his hands. “I think … You should leave now. Both of you.”  
  
Deaton nods. He gets up and reaches for his bag. He looks at Peter, and maybe he wants to say something, but the werewolf won’t hear him anymore. He’s already out of his chair, leaving the room and crossing the hallway, feeling numb. He steps out into the cold and walks away, almost running. 

* * *

Derek is still pacing the alley way. The unconscious hunters are piled up in a corner, tightly bound and gagged. 

“What took you so long?” Derek asks when Peter approaches. 

“I revealed the truth to the Sheriff. Stiles’ father,” Peter says tonelessly. 

Derek looks surprised. But he doesn’t comment on it. 

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. Derek throws glances into Peter’s direction, his eyes glued to the scars for a too long moment that Peter knows is supposed to be volatile, then flickering away to stare at the wall instead. 

Peter acts like he doesn’t notice and tilts his head back, to look at the sky. It hurts to look at Derek. He’s so different now. Older. More serious. Calmer. But in a certain way, he’s also still the boy Peter knew. The boy he taught control over his wolf. The boy he was taking care of when Talia was busy. Which was almost always.

Peter knows the silence can’t go on forever. But Derek’s words still make him startle, still cut deep. 

“Why haven't they healed yet?"

Peter grits his teeth. He asks himself the same question every time he looks into a mirror. “It takes a lot of time. Like it took time to heal the burns. They went down to the bones at some places.”  
  
He sees Derek flinching and shifting his weight. To see his nephew being uncomfortable somehow satisfies him. But when Derek opens his mouth, when the first part of a well known phrase starts to come over his lips, Peter feels nothing but hot rage. “I’m so -”  
  
“Don’t you dare!” Peter snaps and in a second, he’s in front of Derek, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pressing him back against the rough wall, his eyes flashing and his words ending in a growl. “Don’t you dare say that now! You have no right!” 

Derek doesn’t resist. His eyes are wide and his lips are a tight line, but he doesn't resist. And he doesn’t say anything. 

Peter stares into these brown eyes and it all comes back. He remembers waking up from darkness, remembers the shock of not being able to move a single finger, of not being able to talk, to cry or to scream or even _blink_. He remembers the days when he still had hope. When he thought someone - anyone - would come. Because he still could feel some pack bonds. The last fickle weakly pulsing strings he was holding on to desperately. He remembers the first day when he truly realized, no one would come. He was alone. His wolf howling in desperation, in disbelief and, finally, in rage. How could his Alpha - It had to be Laura after Talia's death. Laura wasn't in the house when it happened ... - abandon him? His pack left him behind. They left him here to rot, to try to heal alone. First, Peter didn’t want to think it was because he was useless, weak and broken, but the more time passed, the more he accepted this truth he created for himself. He had been the Alpha’s left hand, and a left hand had to be strong to be able to protect the pack. He couldn’t protect anyone like this. So they decided to get rid of him, like they would get rid of a broken tool. It hurt. The emotional pain added to the physical pain and combined, they started to tear his sanity down bit by bit. A wall that was crumbling with every passing day. Until … until Stiles stumbled into his room.  
  
Peter remembers all of this, and he shakes Derek who still doesn’t even try to move, who is slack and enduring. Somehow, that agitates Peter even more. “Years!” He spits into Derek’s stony face. “I laid there for years! Slowly losing my mind. Trying to hold on to my sanity and feeling it slipping away with every passing day! How do you think I felt when I woke up properly and heard which year it was? I lost six years of my life. You and Laura left me to rot. My body had to repair the damage bit by bit, only to be broken down again and again. Everyone thought I’m not aware what’s happening around me or to me. But I was. I was aware when strangers touched me instead of pack mates, when they moved me around, when they washed me. It was humiliating. And every single day, every single night, I saw the pictures in my head. The fire, the screams, the dying. The burning joist that fell and broke my leg. I saw and heard _everything_. I wished I died in the house with the others often enough. I wished I could just stop breathing. I only stayed sane because a little boy stumbled inside my room and decided to come back. Without Stiles, I would have become feral without a doubt and some stupid hunter would have put me down like a rabid dog, and you and Laura? You wouldn’t have known, because you obviously didn’t care enough!” He stops, breathing heavily after this outburst. 

Derek looks shaken. And what Peter sees in his eyes is pain mixed with guilt. It makes him loosen the grip on Derek’s collar. He lets go, backing away a few steps. He still feels too much. He feels conflicted, because Derek smells like pack, like family, but at the same time, Derek wasn’t there when Peter needed him. Although Peter told him in enough lessons how important the touch of pack mates is to a wounded wolf. How much faster they heal with their family around. Peter’s wolf is equally angry and confused, sensing the Alpha in Derek, sensing the opportunity to be of use again. He shakes his head to become clear. “Why …” He asks hoarsely.  
  
Derek swallows. “Laura … She decided to leave. She received some threats. Most likely from the hunters who are responsible for the fire. I … I said we shouldn't move too far away. Said we should help you to heal. But Laura was … She didn’t let me talk. She said we couldn’t stay, because two wolves are not enough for a stable pack, because if we stayed, we would be dead soon. And she … she told me if I didn't submit she would make me Omega. I … I didn’t know what to do.”  
  
Derek’s voice fades away at the last syllable and something inside Peter softens at his words. God. Derek was only a boy … Hurt and confused, facing a new Alpha and a dilemma he couldn’t solve. Peter was in a coma and Laura was the only one telling Derek what to do. Of course he followed her. He looks at Derek who seems like he’s fighting for more words. “I get it,” he says quietly and Derek’s eyes widen. “I get it,” Peter repeats and sighs. “Laura was your Alpha and she wanted to leave because she didn’t feel safe. Your wolf followed her like he’s supposed to. But … Why did Laura come back now? What made her return?” 

Derek swallows heavily. “She received messages. Pictures. Of a deer, with a spiral carved into its flesh. Another spiral, scratched into the charred wall of the house. A message written in blood. Just the word Hale. She said she had to find out what this was about. And … when she went into the woods, she didn’t return. I felt the bond snapping and found her, dead. I found only one half and buried it.”  
  
“The Sheriff found the other half,” Peter says quietly, shuddering. No matter how angry he was and is at Laura, she still was family. And her death hurts. “What made you think it was me?”  
  
“I found this beside Laura’s body,” Derek says, pulling something out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds it up and the dim lights of one of the remaining street lights fall on it, making it sparkle. 

Peter inhales sharply. It’s the triskelion medaillon. He growls. “Someone was in the vault.” 

Derek nods curtly and puts the medaillon away again. “You were the only Hale left in Beacon Hills. So it’s pretty obvious whoever did this wanted to make it look like you killed Laura to get revenge.”  
  
Peter looks at the hunters and his eyes narrow. “Yes. Someone is keen on finishing what they started years ago. They want to kill the rest of our family. And now, I know exactly who it is we’re up against.”  
  
“Who?” Derek asks.  
  
“Kate Argent,” Peter spits the name out like it’s venom. 

Derek flinches violently. He leans against the wall behind him, his eyes haunted. Peter frowns. Something about Derek’s reaction alarms him. He wants to ask, but before he can, Derek starts to talk, his voice shaky now. So unlike him. “Kate … Of course it’s Kate. It’s fitting that she wanted me to be the last one. So fitting …” He takes some deep breaths and Peter waits, the worry inside him growing. Finally, Derek looks at him and says, “Kate did set up the fire. And she knew about the secret tunnels. She knew about it from me. I told her.”  
  
Peter freezes. “What?” He asks, not able to comprehend the information fast enough. “What did you say?”  
  
“I told her,” Derek repeats, looking desperate and defeated. “It’s my fault. Everything that happened … it’s my fault alone. Kate came to me after Paige. She was … understanding. Gentle. Kind. She started to talk to me frequently. She wanted to be a friend, she said. Because … because I didn’t seem to be a monster and she wanted to know me more.” 

Peter listens, feeling cold and numb, and he starts to feel sick. If this goes where he thinks it does, when it ends where he thinks it’s going to end, he might actually throw up.  
  
Derek continues, his voice small and broken, his hands clenched into fists. He isn’t meeting Peter’s eyes. “We met in the woods. And … and one day, she kissed me. She touched me. She told me this would be our secret. I … I couldn’t stop. And when she told me, there shouldn’t be any secrets between us, I told her everything she wanted to know … Everything.” He stops, looking down at his feet. "I was stupid and I killed our family," he whispers.  
  
Peter fights the nausea down. First, he wants to be angry again. He wants to hate Derek just as much as he hates Kate. But that’s just a certain part of him. The other part knows the truth. And he has to tell Derek, because the boy can’t find it himself. “It’s not your fault, Derek,” he says.  
  
Derek flinches and his head perks up, his eyes going wide. “What?”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Peter repeats. “You were a minor. You were vulnerable. Kate, an adult, took advantage. She manipulated, abused and raped you. You’re the victim, not a culprit.”  
  
Derek makes a noise that sounds almost like a sob. “You should hate me,” he says.  
  
Peter shakes his head. “I don’t.” _I can’t_ … “I understand you.” _More than you think._  
  
Derek looks like he doesn’t know how to feel. He stands there, his hands still clenched into fists and his shoulders slumped. A traumatized young man. But also an Alpha. And with them being obviously targets of a dangerous, cunning and manipulative capable huntress - Peter hates her, but he isn’t stupid enough to underestimate Kate Argent, the daughter of Gerard Argent - they have to do something.

“You’re the Alpha now,” he tells Derek firmly. “You know what that means. You need a proper stable pack. You need a right and a left hand. One or more ordinary betas to strengthen the bonds. And an emissary.” 

Derek grimaces, but he also nods in defeat. “I know. But … Where do I start?”  
  
Peter sighs. “You start here. With me,” he says, tilting his head, to bare the side of his throat. 

Derek swallows. “Are you sure?” 

“You’re family. Of course I’m sure.” He doesn’t need to talk about what his role is going to be. They both know he’s always been and is always going to be the left hand. At least, Derek is likely going to appreciate it more than Talia did. Or Laura. At least, Peter hopes so. 

But Derek still hesitates. His next words surprise Peter immensely. “If we’re doing this, I want you to be my left _and_ my right hand.” 

Peter frowns. He knows that’s not impossible, but it’s … unusual. It would mean playing two roles instead of one, would mean switching between two different tasks. 

“If you want to,” Derek adds, maybe sensing Peter’s surprise. “I mean … You are the smartest man I know, and you’ve always been teaching me. So …”

“Now you’re trying to flatter me,” Peter says dryly, but he actually likes the idea. It’s different. Maybe, it’s going to satisfy both his wolf and himself this time. Maybe, it would mean not being at the edge of a pack the whole time, because everyone could smell the blood on his hands even if it was already washed away. “But … I want to.” He tilts his head again, pointedly looking at Derek. They need to bond, need to show their wolves the new nature of their relationship.  
  
Derek steps into his private space a bit more determined now, and drops his fangs. His bite is almost too gentle. But it’s enough to pierce the skin and draw blood. Derek’s eyes flash red while Peter’s gleam blue. He can already feel the bond taking place. His wolf reaches for it greedily. It’s no surprise. His only contacts in the last few years have been human, and now there’s a wolf, an Alpha, who forms a bond that holds a promise of stability and purpose. 

Peter is surprised when Derek doesn’t pull away immediately, but instead rubs his cheek against Peter’s for a moment, to scent-mark him. It’s almost too much. It's overwhelming. But Peter leans into it anyway. He knows he’s not an Omega anymore. No more hiding in his apartment and hoping he won’t go feral. 

“What are we going to do now?” Derek asks. 

“We have to find out where Kate is and what she’s planning.” Peter narrows his eyes. “She has to pay. She has to pay for killing our family, for manipulating and abusing you. She has to pay for everything she’s done.” 

Derek nods. “We also need more pack.”  
  
“We can include Deaton,” Peter says, remembering the vet's words about rebuilding the pack and reclaiming the territory.

“What about your soulmate and his father? Are they going to be pack too?” Derek asks. 

Peter thinks about it. He would like that. He has to protect them anyway. “They could be. It depends on Noah’s reaction. He’s either going to accept it, or he’s going to tell me to stay away from Stiles.” 

Derek arches his brows. “He can’t keep you away from your soulmate. It could be dangerous for you and Stiles.”  
  
Peter shrugs. “Noah doesn’t know anything about that. He only knows I’m a monster he knows from fairy tale books and bad horror movies. And I’m not going to take Stiles away from him. I can’t.” 

Derek hums. He looks at the bound hunters and frowns. “What are we going to do about them?”  
  
“I would keep one for questions. If he doesn’t sing, you can offer him the bite,” Peter suggests. They both know what it means to an hunter if they’re bitten. They’re supposed to kill themselves and if they don’t, the rest of the hunter community is going to be after them sooner or later. Peter thinks the hunter is going to sing like a bird. He points at Hank/Cowboy hat. He deserves to suffer for only thinking about hurting Stiles. “Keep that one. And you can tell Chris Argent about the rest. He doesn’t like code breakers and is certainly going to find a way to deal with them.”  
  
Derek frowns. “You trust Chris Argent?”  
  
“I trust that _he_ sticks to his code.” Peter says vaguely. Derek doesn’t need to know more. His nephew shrugs. “Alright.”  
  
“I have to go and make sure Stiles and his father are safe,” Peter tells him and is surprised how much he already needs to be sure of his Alpha’s approvance. It’s a bit annoying since he's still pissed at Derek. But well. “Do you have a place to stay?”  
  
Derek nods. But Peter gives him the key to his apartment anyway. “You don’t have to keep it. We can live in my apartment together." He doesn't wait for Derek's answer and leaves.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, it’s still dark outside. He looks around confused, wondering what he’s doing in bed, until he remembers. Peter. The bad men. Hunters? Most likely.  
  
Peter must have brought him home. Stiles thinks the werewolf is okay, since he doesn’t feel alarmed anymore. He gets up, his legs wobbling a bit. Now, he also remembers how he pushed one of the mean men against the wall without touching him. It was scary. But it also felt … good. Like he got rid of a bad feeling. But it was definitely scary and he wants his dad now.   
  
He stumbles down the stairs and finds his father sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. The sight is familiar, but it’s also different. There is no bottle. But there is a book on the table. Opened. Stiles catches a glimpse of the picture of a fully shifted werewolf and it dawns on him. _He knows._

“Dad?” Stiles asks hesitantly. 

Noah perks up and looks at him, his eyes heavy, his skin pale. “Hey, kiddo," he says, smiling weakly. 

“Who told you?” Stiles asks.  
  
Noah looks down at the book and sighs. “Alan gave me this book before he left. He was here with Peter, showing me … things.” He frowns.  
  
Stiles swallows. “It’s real Dad. It is. But it’s okay. You don’t need to be afraid.”

Noah makes a noise. It's half laugh half groan. “Everyone tells me that. Don’t be scared. There’s no need to be scared. Even my ten year old son.” He runs a hand down his face and shakes his head. “I don’t know what to think ...” 

Stiles shrugs. “It’s easy! You only know a new thing about Peter now. But he’s still Peter.”

His father stares at him. “It’s not that easy, Stiles …”  
  
“Of course it is, nothing changed,” Stiles insists, feeling a bit annoyed now. 

“Nothing changed? Nothing … Stiles, he’s a … a …” Noah looks pained. 

“A werewolf,” Stiles says, the annoyance growing. “I noticed. And?” 

“And … and werewolves are not supposed to be real. What am I supposed to think? He shows me his glowing eyes and fangs and claws and … God, Stiles. He’s _dangerous_. You can’t be around him anymore …”

Stiles’ stomach falls and he feels like he’s going to break in two. The annoyance changes into straight out rage. “Why not?! You _like_ him. You said it’s alright when I visit him in the hospital, because he had no one left and you liked that I cared. I was in his room for _hours._ He saved me from the fire. He was here in this house on Christmas, cooking dinner for us. You saw him having a panic attack and wanted to help. You said he’s always welcome here. And now you want him to stay away just because you found out he’s a werewolf? He could have killed you or me whenever he wanted. But he didn’t. Because he’s not a monster!” 

“Stiles …” Noah says quietly. 

But Stiles can’t stop. He’s shivering with anger and disbelief. “How can you forget everything good about him only because of one single detail? Do you want to believe the fairy tales? Do you want to believe in the tales of the big bad wolf killing children in the woods or do you want to believe me and Peter? The books and the movies are stupid! They don’t tell the truth! Peter is a good guy and he saved me, Doctor Deaton says we’re soulmates now, he says I could be magic, and I want to be magic, I want to learn! But you would never want me to be like that, because you’re afraid! You’re afraid to believe and, and, and …” God. He can’t. It's too much. He screams and clenches his hands into fists. The empty glass standing on the table starts to wobble. 

His father jumps up in alarm. “Stiles! Calm down!” 

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, to say that he can’t, but suddenly, the wobbling glass on the table topples over the edge of the table. It shatters on the kitchen floor. Stiles and Noah stare down at the shards. Noah blinks. His eyes are wide. “Stiles …”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Stiles says softly, feeling calmer now that some of the bad feelings are out. “But … You just have to believe and accept. Like I did. Like I _do._ ”  
  
Noah sighs and raises both hands. “I’m _trying_ , Stiles. I have been trying.”  
  
“Maybe you should try harder! And maybe you should try to not to listen to everyone else, maybe you should listen to your own feelings instead,” Stiles says, getting angry again. But then, he feels something else and looks towards a window, his eyes widening and his chest filling with warmth. “He’s outside,” he says quietly. 

“Peter?” Noah asks.  
  
Stiles nods. “He wants to protect us.” 

“Why should he have to protect us?” His father asks, and now he sounds both surprised and worried. 

“There are bad people after him and after us. I saw them.”  
  
“God,” Noah whispers, shaking his head. “What did you get yourself into, Stiles?”  
  
Stiles doesn’t answer. 

* * *

Peter paces the street in front of the house restlessly.

He has heard Stiles and his father talking about him and quickly focused on something else. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to hear the sheriff telling Stiles to stay away. 

It starts to rain. The drops are hitting him like freezing prick pins. 

Peter shivers. But he’s not going to leave. He has to protect them. If he has to, he’s going to sleep here, outside. If he lets the wolf come forward for a while, he’s going to warm up a bit … 

When he walks past the house another time, the door opens. He freezes.  
  
Noah’s silhouette appears in the soft light coming from inside. The Sheriff has his arms wrapped around himself. He stares at Peter.  
  
Peter expects to be sent away. He expects insults or threats. He expects a lot. He doesn’t expect the words that reach him through the rushing noise of the rain shower. 

“Come inside. Please. I told you you're welcome here. That hasn’t changed,” Noah says. “We need to talk.”  
  
Peter blinks the raindrops out of his eyes. He sees Stiles standing behind Noah and his wolf purrs. He walks towards them.  
  
Noah lets him inside and he smells of fear mixed with intense confusion, but there’s also some careful trust and the kindness Peter knows well from before. It’s a combination that makes him feel hope.


	6. Chapter 6

The night has been long for everyone and it’s still not over.  
  
Peter watches Noah preparing the guest room and dries his hair with the towel the Sheriff has handed him wordlessly, before putting fresh linen on the bed. He moves with a strange kind of detached calm. Peter is still surprised Noah let him back into the house at all. He can only hope the Sheriff won’t change his mind in the morning.

When he’s finished, the Sheriff sighs and sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, wiping a hand over his pale face. He looks incredibly tired. “You know, I’m still not sure I’m not dreaming all of this,” he says. “But … I’m sorry I sent you and Deaton away like that. It wasn’t polite.”  
  
Peter shakes his head. “I didn’t expect you to be polite. Your whole world, everything you thought you knew, it’s all crumbling around you right now. That you are ready to listen and try to understand, is way more than I have expected. It’s way more most people who find out do.” 

Noah frowns. “What do they usually do?”  
  
“They stay in denial. Or … They start to hate and hunt,” Peter says. There were more than one case in which someone who found out about the supernatural became a hunter. He knows from Chris Argent that the council doesn’t exactly approve of such fresh hunters who aren’t born into a hunter family and trained from their childhood on, but everyone knows a rogue hunter without training would be dangerous. So the council tries to get to them before they cause some massacre and gives them mentors that teach them about the code. 

“I just … I have to know if Stiles is in danger. Is my son in danger?” Noah asks, and in this moment, he’s only a father worrying about his only son’s safety. 

Peter shakes his head. “Not as long as I’m here,” he says firmly. He would never let something happen to Stiles. If anyone wants to hurt the boy, they would have to go through him first. 

Noah studies him for a moment and finally nods. “Alright. I trust you. I don't know why exactly, but I do trust you.” He gets up slowly, grimacing. “I have to get a few hours of sleep now. In the morning … we’ll talk.”

“Alright. Thank you. For your trust,” Peter says. He hopes he sounds as sincere as he feels. He’s relieved to be so close to his soulmate. He’s relieved to not have to spend the rest of the cold rainy night outside. He can feel Stiles, fast asleep and safe in his bed only one room away and that’s enough for now.  
  
Noah gives him a weak but gentle smile. “This was certainly the strangest night of my life, but Stiles is right when he says you’re a good man. I can see and feel that. Goodnight, Peter.” He leaves the room on quiet feet and Peter stares after him, completely stunned by his last words. 

* * *

Two hours pass until Peter’s light slumber is disrupted by a groan and a whimper coming from Stiles’ room. He opens his eyes and stares into the void, for a moment completely confused by the fact he’s not in his apartment and everything smells differently. The whole room smells of Stiles and his father. He remembers then and frowns, turning on his side to face the wall separating the guest room from Stiles’ bedroom.  
  
He considers getting up and looking for the boy, when he hears bed springs creaking and bare feet padding over wooden floor softly. Stiles stumbles into the room, rubbing his eyes. He looks so young with the pyjama that’s a bit too large for him. The sleeves are covering his hands. He looks at Peter with wide glassy eyes.

“Nightmare?” Peter asks quietly, feeling a pang of sympathy when Stiles nods and sniffles. He knows how haunting bad dreams can be. How real they can feel …  
  
“Can I sleep here?” Stiles whispers.  
  
Peter is surprised, but he nods, lifting the blanket. Stiles hurries to get on the bed and snuggles against Peter, his body small and thin. Vulnerable, Peter realizes and the urge to protect rushes through him almost violently. Stiles radiates warmth. He smells of soap and books. His breath is still quick. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asks, wrapping an arm around the boy carefully.  
  
Stiles makes a small noise. “It was scary,” he whispers. “I was running through the, the forest. And I felt like something horrible was about to happen. But I didn’t know how to stop it. I just … I wanted to do _something_. There was a shot and I felt a horrible pain, right here,” he points at his chest and sighs. “Then I fell, like into a very dark hole. I never stopped falling. Until … I woke up.”  
  
Peter hums in sympathy. But he also feels worried. Is Stiles able to have premonitions? They will have to ask Deaton. After a while, Stiles’ breath evens out and Peter can feel the boy dozing off. He stays awake a while longer, listening to the rain and for anything that could be a threat, but there’s nothing. Only a racoon, searching the bins in the neighbourhood for food.  
  
Peter closes his eyes and falls asleep with Stiles’ scent filling his nose.  
  


* * *

  
In the morning, the smell of coffee and toast is floating through the house. Stiles is gone, already downstairs with his father. He has left his scent behind on the bed sheets. Peter inhales it for a few moments, before getting up reluctantly. His sleep has been short but surprisingly refreshing. 

He goes to the bathroom, uses the toilet and washes his face. When he sees his reflection in the bathroom, he has the feeling the scars have fainted a bit, but maybe, that’s just wishful thinking again.

When Peter goes downstairs, Stiles and the Sheriff are in the kitchen. Noah is making scrambled eggs, while Stiles sits at the table and cuts apples. “Good morning,” he says, suddenly feeling a bit worried, although Stiles smiles brightly at him. Noah doesn’t turn around but he returns a “Morning,” and it sounds calm. Peter relaxes. He sits at the table as well and Stiles hands him a slice of apple. 

Noah puts scrambled egg on three plates, adds toast, and distributes them. He joins Stiles and Peter at the table and pulls out a notebook and a pencil. Peter looks at them slightly amused. He guesses, the Sheriff is going to try to treat this like a case. It’s not the worst idea for sure. He doesn’t have to wait long for the first question of many. 

“So … Werewolves are real,” Noah says, rubbing the back of his head. “And you are one.” 

Stiles looks from Peter to his father and back, his eyes wide and excited. He forgets to swallow the scrambled eggs in his mouth. 

“Yes,” Peter nods. “I am a werewolf.”  
  
“How, uh, does that happen?” Noah asks carefully. He keeps his voice calm and neutral. “I admit I don’t know much about werewolves. But I know there’s usually the bite of another werewolf involved ....”

Peter shakes his head and smiles mildly. Of course ... He was prepared for the usual questions inspired by fairy tales and fantasy books. “The stories you know are usually just that, fictional stories without much truth in them. I was born like this. I inherited the werewolf gene, like almost everyone in my family did. And only an Alpha werewolf’s bite can change a human into a werewolf. If I bit you or Stiles now, nothing would happen.” 

Noah nods slowly. He takes a sip of his coffee and clears his throat, scribbling into his notebook. “What about the full moon? Is it true that, uh, a werewolf changes into a, um, well …”  
  
“A rampaging monster vaguely resembling a wolf on two legs?” Peter asks, leaning back in his chair. He’s definitely amused now. Stiles giggles.

Noah looks slightly uncomfortable, but he nods. “Well. Yes.”  
  
Peter shakes his head. “Another popular myth. Only a werewolf who didn’t learn to control the wolf inside them, or somehow loses control over the wolf, would have troubles dealing with the pull of the full moon. What happens at the full moon is that the wolf inside gets more active and stronger than usual. The wolf wants to follow their instincts. Some weres call that moon-sickness. My family taught the younger members how to control the wolf on the full moon. We need an anchor. Something or someone, that can pull the wolf back and calm them down. Stiles was there when I was on the edge of losing control. He calmed the wolf and brought me back. Therefore, he’s my anchor now.” 

“Anchor,” Noah repeats quietly and writes that down. He still looks calm and focused. Peter thinks these are good signs. “So that’s how you two are connected?” 

“Deaton said we’re soulmates too,” Stiles chimes in, talking around a mouthful of toast. Noah looks at him arching his brows. “Swallow before you talk, Stiles. Soulmates?” He looks back at Peter. “What does that mean? Probably more than I think it does ...” 

Peter nods. “By saving each other, Stiles and my wolf bonded. My wolf chose Stiles as his mate. It’s like they are connected by an invisible string now. It’s a very powerful, deep magical bond and usually lasts for a lifetime.” When the Sheriff looks slightly alarmed at this, Peter hurries to say, “Although romantic soulmates are more common, platonic soulmates do happen occasionally. Stiles and I are platonic soulmates, which means our relationship purely bases on friendship. It means we are able to sense each other’s emotions, we know if the other one is in danger, and one day, Stiles might even be able to read my wolf’s thoughts.”  
  
Stiles gasps. His eyes sparkle in excitement.  
  
Noah swallows. “Are there any, uh, dangers involved in this kind of relationship?”

“When soulmates get separated or torn apart, it might have consequences. They reach from depression to insanity. Soulmates need to be close to each other, they are like two sides of a coin. One cannot exist without the other,” Peter says gingerly. 

Noah blanches a bit. He writes into his notebook for a while, and Peter uses the break to try the scrambled egg. He bites onto an egg shell instantly, trying to keep a straight face. Stiles glances at him knowingly and giggles. Noah doesn’t look up from his notebook. “So … is there anything else I need to know about werewolves?” He asks.  
  
Peter considers it’s random facts time now and just starts talking. “We have heightened senses and strength. I can smell and hear as well as an actual wolf, and I have night vision. We separate our human side from the wolf, since I can choose which one is more pronounced. Werewolves need a pack. Lone wolves usually don’t survive long. Like real wolves, we are stronger together. A pack consists of an Alpha, his left and right hand, an emissary, and betas. Every pack member has a role. The Alpha is the leader and decision maker. The right hand is a consultant and mediator. The left hand protects the pack from any threats and wipes them out. Then, there are the ordinary betas. They give the pack their strength. The emissary is usually a human druid with a huge knowledge of the supernatural and healing abilities.” 

He stops, because Noah looks slightly overwhelmed by all the information. 

Stiles uses the moment of silence to ask his own questions. “Can you change into an actual wolf?” He blurts out.  
  
Peter smiles and shakes his head. “No. Very few werewolves ever manage to do that. My sister Talia could do it. She changed into a black wolf.”  
  
“Cool,” Stiles says almost reverently. “What is your role in a pack? Are you an Alpha?” 

“No. You recognize Alphas by their red eyes. Betas usually have yellow eyes, except they feel guilty about something, then their eyes are blue,” Peter explains and flashes his own eyes. “I’m a beta now and I’ve always been a left hand. I protected the pack, but I was also a teacher.”  
  
Noah raises his head from the notebook and frowns. “One last question. Stiles mentioned there are dangerous people after you. Is that true?”  
  
Peter nods carefully. “They are hunters. The same ones that set the fire that killed my family years ago. They came back and already killed Laura, my niece who survived the fire."  
  
Noah visibly pales again. “So that's why we couldn't figure the fire out and always wondered why no one left the building. These hunters knew it was a house full of werewolves ..."  
  
Like always when he has to talk and think about the fire, Peter starts to feel shivery and nauseous. His wolf stirs, growling. “Yes. They knew. They used mountain ash to keep us inside the building and wolfsbane to make us weaker,” he says quietly.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Noah says, sounding open and honest. Stiles stopped eating, looking down at his plate with sad eyes.  
  
Peter clears his throat. “Thank you. Now that my nephew Derek returned and is the Alpha, I have a pack again. You can be in the pack too. Even though you’re not werewolves. There were humans in my family too.” And they died with the wolves, he thinks with a hint of bitterness. Being human didn’t save them. One reason more, to protect Stiles and his father …  
  
“I won’t lie,” he continues. “Kate Argent and her minions burned down my family. They didn't care there was a truce between werewolves and hunters. They didn’t care we were peaceful and protected the territory against any real supernatural threats. They didn’t care there were humans in the pack. Kate Argent manipulated and abused my nephew when he was a minor, to get information out of him. She is dangerous and unscrupulous, I’m sure she’s responsible for the fire in your house too, and she sent hunters out to get me. Hunters which were ready to harm an innocent boy.”  
  
Noah and Stiles look at him with wide eyes. There’s fear in the air now, and Peter has to avoid their gazes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you and Stiles to be in danger. I didn’t want you to be involved in this. But I promise, I’m going to protect you both with my life. Derek will too.” 

Noah swallows heavily and wipes a hand over his face. “Jesus. This is a lot.”

“I know,” Peter says quietly. He wouldn’t be angry if Noah would sent him away now, if he would tell him to never come back. But the Sheriff doesn’t do that. He just writes into his notebook, looking firm and determined.

“What about my magic?” Stiles asks softly.  
  
Peter looks at him. “Deaton thinks it was triggered by your bond with my wolf. You need to learn to control it. And you need to learn that fast.”  
  
“I need to know more about this magic,” Noah says, frowning. “What exactly are we talking about? Like … is Stiles somewhat of a wizard?"  
  
Peter has to smile at that. “Well, he’s not a wizard like Harry Potter. He would be a mage and mages are more like shamans. They are able to manipulate energy and use it as a weapon or to heal wounds.”

“But where does this come from?” Noah asks, his frown deepening.

“It might be in the family. Did you notice anything unusual about Stiles’ mother? Or a grandmother?” Peter asks. 

Noah thinks for a moment. His eyes widen. “Well, Claudia’s mother always worked a lot with herbs and said she had premonitions - Oh. Oh my …” The Sheriff wipes a hand down his face and shakes his head incredulously. “She was magic, wasn’t she?”  
  
“Cool,” Stiles says at the same time Peter nods and says, “Most likely.”

“Jesus,” Noah repeats hoarsely. “But … I don’t think Claudia …” 

“It can skip a generation. The werewolf gene can skip too. Two of my nieces were human. My uncle was too,” Peter explains. “Wherever Stiles’ magic is coming from, he needs to learn to control it. Deaton knows mages who can help.” 

“Alan … What exactly is he?” Noah asks carefully. “Is he supernatural too?”  
  
“Deaton is a human druid. He has been the Hales’ emissary for a long time. He has great knowledge of the supernatural and knows how to heal most injuries,” Peter says. 

Noah looks doubtful. “Is there even anything that can endanger - or kill - a werewolf?” 

Peter smiles mildly. “We are not as invincible as some of the stories suggest. As I mentioned before, we can’t cross mountain ash lines. Wolfsbane can be lethal, if it’s used as a weapon. But some forms of wolfsbane can work as an antidote to poisoning.” 

“Wait, so silver …”

Peter shakes his head. “No. Silver doesn’t really work against a werewolf.”

Noah hums and writes that down as well. After, he sighs and closes the notebook. “I’ll need to process all of this … What are you planning to do now?” He asks Peter.  
  
Peter looks at Stiles. “We’re going to teach Stiles. And we have to find out where Kate Argent is. We have to find out what she’s planning.”  
  


As soon as possible …  
  


* * *

  
Peter leaves Stiles and his father after breakfast, to let them process what they learned. 

When he returns to his apartment, Derek is sitting on the edge of the bed, grimly staring at the hunter in front of him. Hank aka Cowboy hat is bound to a chair and gagged. He glares at the two werewolves, his eyes spitting hate like venom.  
  
Seeing Derek as he’s now is still making Peter stop in his steps. It’s surreal. It’s confusing. He pushes that away and focuses on the presence instead. “What happened to the other hunters?”  
  
Derek looks up at him calmly. “Chris Argent came and fetched them. Told me, they would be exiled by the council for breaking the code.”

“He came personally?” Peter asks and frowns. “Is he back in Beacon Hills?”  
  
Derek nods and gives him a lingering look. “He is. He’s living in the suburbs, with his family.” 

Peter feels both surprised and angry. Chris Argent is back in Beacon Hills. After leaving it without a word years ago. He wonders if the hunter knows what his sister did. He thinks he’s going to pay Chris a visit. As soon as he’s done with the scum sitting in front of him. The scum that wanted to hurt Stiles. 

Peter pulls the gag away and Hank coughs, turning his head to the side with a snarl. Peter grabs him by his jaw and turns his head back until he can glower directly into the man’s eyes. “Where is Kate Argent?” He asks, not wasting any words.  
  
Hank scoffs. “I won’t tell you dogs anything,” he spits out. “No way in hell! I don’t care if you kill me.”

Peter rolls his eyes. The man is a walking cliché. “We are not going to kill you, Hank. We are going to change you. Make you one of ours,” he says mildly, nodding at Derek, who flashes his eyes crimson. 

Hank visibly pales. He shifts on the chair, swallowing so heavily, Peter can see his adam’s apple bobbing. The hunter reeks more of fear than defiance now. That’s much better. Peter tightens his grip at Hank’s jaw. “I’ll ask one more time. Where is Kate Argent?” 

The hunter makes a noise that’s half a laugh and half a groan. “I don’t know. No one does. She’s always one step ahead. You won’t see her coming.” 

Peter grits his teeth. Well. The Bite it is. He nods at Derek who gets up, dropping his fangs. Hank looks up at him in fear, trying in vain to shuffle away. He opens his mouth, maybe for a plea, but before a sound can escape the hunter’s throat, a small flickering red dot appears on his forehead. Before anyone can move, there’s a dull shot, glass shatters and Hank slumps in the chair, blood oozing from the small bullet hole in his head. The werewolves duck, anticipating more shots, and Peter curses, turning to look out of the window in the hope to be able to see the shooter. But there’s only hollow silence now. And no trace of the assassin. 

“It’s like he said. One step ahead,” Derek murmurs, looking at the dead hunter with wide eyes. “She’s toying with us.”  
  
Peter scoffs. “Oh yeah, I bet she thinks she’s oh so smart. We’ll see about that ... Pack your things, we can’t stay here.”  
  
Derek frowns. “Where do we go?” 

Peter pulls out his phone. “I’ll call the Stilinskis.” He feels a bit bad for disturbing them so soon after he left, but this incident only makes him feel more protective. He has to be close to everyone. He calls the Sheriff and explains. Noah tells him to come over with Derek without hesitance, and Peter feels both relieved and grateful. He can’t let something happen to these humans … Not after how they accepted him, and treated him with so much kindness. 

When he and Derek pack their things, Peter’s eyes fall on the calendar. He frowns when he sees the red circle around the date. “I forgot my therapist appointment,” he mumbles.  
  
Derek looks at him with open surprise. “You are going to therapy?”  
  
“Well, sometimes it’s good to have someone to talk to. Especially when you’re alone with everything that happened to you,” Peter says dryly. Derek is silent, but his shoulders slump.  
  


* * *

The Sheriff opens the door with a smile.

“This is my nephew Derek,” Peter says. “He’s a werewolf too,” he adds, before Noah can ask.   
  
Derek reaches out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sheriff Stilinski,” he says politely.  
  
Noah shakes his hand firmly. “Please, call me Noah.”  
  
Stiles comes to look up at Derek with wide eyes. “You’re an Alpha?” He asks, bouncing on his heels.  
  
Derek nods and flashes his eyes red for a moment. Stiles gasps. “Awesome!” He calls out.  
  
Derek frowns, but a careful smile spreads on his face. “That’s not the typical reaction.”  
  
“Stiles is everything but typical,” Peter remarks, sending the boy a grin. “I have to do something. I’ll be back in a hour,” he tells his small but now quite solid pack and leaves, pulling out his mobile. He has to find out an address.

* * *

  
Chris has a small but nice house in the suburbs. It’s remarkably unobtrusive.  
  
When Peter finds the place, Chris is working in the garden, pulling out weed. He watches the hunter from the shadows of the trees nearby, his throat tightening. Chris changed. Of course he did. It’s been years. So many years.  
  
Memories … They float in front of Peter’s eyes. He shoves them away almost angrily. 

A small girl with long dark hair suddenly comes running through the garden, jumping on Chris’ back with a gleeful squeal. Peter considers she’s Chris’ daughter. 

He watches as Chris grabs and tickles the girl with a bright grin on his tanned face. She screams and writhes. “Dad! Stop it!” 

Her father laughs and lets her go. The girl disappears in the house and Chris looks after her, with a fond expression on his face. Something about this image makes Peter’s stomach clench. He shifts his weight and a branch snaps under his foot loudly. He freezes.  
  
Chris’ head twitches into his direction. It’s remarkable how fast he reacts. Almost like an actual wolf …  
  
Peter stays in the shadows and watches as Chris look around with a frown. His crystal blue eyes scan the trees and fall on Peter, widening slightly. Peter doesn’t move. He wonders if Chris will recognize him even after all these years. He does. For some reason. 

“Peter? You could just have come by and knock on the door, you know? But then … I know you wolves somehow have an allergy against using front doors instead of windows,” the hunter says, his voice sounding strangely strained.  
  
Peter can’t help it. He has to smile at Chris’ words. It makes him remember again … Better times. He leaves the shadows and approaches the garden slowly, keeping some distance. 

Chris eyes him up and down, his eyes sticking to the scars for a moment. “Hey,” he says, his voice a bit hoarse.   
  
Peter just nods curtly. “You’re back,” he says. “Why?”

Chris shrugs and grins weakly. “I have always liked Beacon Hills. Something pulled me back.”  
  
“Business?” Peter says sharply.  
  
Chris’ expression darkens a bit. “No. I don’t do that anymore. I’m just consulting, if I have to. Like with these rogue hunters you encountered.”  
  
Peter just hums. They stare at each other, an uncomfortable silence lingering in the space between them. It's strange. In the past, they always had something to say.  
  
“How are you?” Chris asks eventually. The cautious tone of that question makes Peter angry. “What do you think?” He snaps, glaring at the hunter.  
  
Chris sighs. “Peter … I’m sorry. Someone called me to tell me when it happened. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Peter snarls. _You just left and never looked back_ , is what he doesn’t add. It would make him sound weak. “Don’t act like you actually care …”  
  
Chris takes a step forward and Peter takes one back, clenching his hands into fists. “I didn’t know, Peter. I swear. If I’d known … I would have stopped them.”  
  
Peter snorts. God. He’s so angry … Even now that he realizes Chris doesn't know Kate did it. He wouldn't be able to lie like that. “Are you sure? Are you sure you would have stopped the hunter that did it?”  
  
“Of course,” Chris says, sounding strained. 

“Even if it was your own sister?” Peter hisses and Chris freezes, his eyes widening. “What?” He asks, stunned, and Peter feels a hint of satisfaction at the hunter’s confusion. “Yes, Christopher. Your precious little sister did it. She killed my family and put me in a six year long coma. I learned about it when she sent these hunters after me. Hunters who killed my niece Laura and tried to make it look like I did that.” 

Chris stumbles a step backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him. He wipes a hand over his face and shakes his head. “God. I haven’t seen her in ages. She’s moved away after the fire and barely called me. I … I remember how she said it was a blessing someone finally did something …” He looks like he’s about to be sick.  
  
Peter has to look away. It's been a long time since he's seen the hunter without his mask of calm controlled indifference. The shocked expression on Chris’ face and the emotions he’s radiating are confusing him and his wolf way too much. “Do you know where she is?”  
  
“No.” Chris’ heart doesn’t stutter. He’s telling the truth. Peter is disappointed. But at least, he can be sure now that Chris had nothing to do with it. Somehow … that makes him feel better. But he doesn’t like that fact. 

“If you see her, tell her she’s going to pay,” Peter says. “She’s going to pay for everything. Or … you can help me find her,” he challenges.   
  
Chris looks around and his expression gets stricken. “I have a daughter now. Allison. Peter … I can’t help you. I can’t endanger my family. I won’t stop you. Do what you have to do. But please, keep her out of it.” 

“Fine,” Peter says, turning away. He feels … disappointed. And angry at himself for what he feels. “Goodbye, Christopher.” He starts to walk away.  
  
After a moment, he hears Chris’ voice following him. Almost too quiet. “Peter …”

Peter doesn’t stop. 

* * *

Stiles starts to learn. Of course, he’s an eager student, hungry for every bit of information. 

Deaton is going to teach Stiles about supernatural creatures. That, Peter can help with. By giving Stiles proper and accurate books to read. 

He was in the vault, to fetch the books that survived the fire. He’s had so many, the shelves never sufficed. It hurts to think about how many of them are ash now. 

Stiles stares at the boxes lining up in the guest room, his eyes wide. “I can read every book I want?” He asks, voice trembling with excitement.  
  
Peter nods and smiles. “Every single one of them.” 

Stiles promptly drops on the bed with a thick book about water creatures, his nose almost disappearing between the dusty pages.  
  
Peter joins him, closing his eyes for a short slumber.  
  
  
Deaton and Peter can’t really help Stiles with the magic, so the vet arranges a meeting with one of the mages he knows. Peter knows her vaguely, has seen her at a pack meeting once or twice. Her name is Jennifer Blake, and she is as powerful as she's smart.

On a crisp morning, he goes to the forest with Stiles. They’re going to meet Deaton and Jennifer at the nemeton. Stiles gets tired after a while, so Peter gives him a piggyback ride. Stiles’ arms close around Peter’s neck and his weight is barely even there. He’s featherlight.  
  
The forest is calm around them. Winter has made the trees bare and the ground rough. A few birds call out from time to time. They see a squirrel searching for food under the hard earth. 

“What are you going to do when you find Kate?” Stiles eventually asks. 

Peter hesitates. There are a lot of things he wants to do to Kate Argent. He sometimes wishes he could make her feel the same pain he felt. But that’s impossible. He would never touch Chris or his daughter. 

“She should go to prison,” Stiles says, when Peter doesn’t answer. “For a long, long time.” 

Peter knows Stiles is right. It’s the law. It’s what happens when someone commits arson and murder. But his wolf disagrees. His wolf wants to see, smell and taste Kate Argent’s blood. He wants it with such a ferocity, that Peter worries about the moment he’s facing Kate. Will he be able to not rip her throat out in front of Stiles? 

He’s not entirely sure.  
  
"Let's focus on you and your magic for now," he says to change the subject and Stiles nods, radiating excitement.  
  
In front of them, the nemeton appears.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles lays the flat of his hand on the tree stump in front of him and frowns, when he senses a tingling sensation under his skin. “I can feel it! It’s … it's buzzing.”  
  
Deaton comes to stand beside him and smiles. “Yes. It’s buzzing with energy and it responds to your own. This is the Nemeton, Stiles. A magical tree and a sacred space, used by druids for rituals. It’s also working like a magnet for supernatural creatures.” 

The vet nods at the strange woman standing behind them, her arms crossed. She’s lean and yet radiates a certain kind of strength. Her long dark brown hair is falling over her shoulders, curling a bit at the ends. Her eyes are the same walnut brown and they sparkle as they settle on Stiles, wandering over his face. Stiles thinks he already likes her. He likes how she feels. “This is Jennifer Blake,” Deaton introduces her. “She’s a mage. She will help us to discover the nature of your magic and will teach you how to control it.” 

Stiles’ heart jumps a happy loop in his chest. _Finally_. Finally, someone is going to teach him how he’s supposed to handle this strange ball of energy inside of him. He glances over at Peter, who nods at him encouragingly and smiles from where he’s leaning against a tree. Stiles focuses back on Jennifer, almost stumbling over his own words in his excitement. “What can you do? I mean, how does your magic work?” 

Jennifer smiles and raises her hand. For a moment, nothing happens. But then, there’s a quiet crackling and purple light appears, running through Jennifer’s fingers in thin jacked lines. It looks like lightning. There’s a thunderstorm in her hand. Stiles’ jaw drops. He thinks he forgets to breath for a moment, because when he inhales, he feels a little dizzy. “This is sooo cool! How does this work?” Can I do that too? Stiles wonders. This is definitely not Harry Potter magic.  
  
Jennifer closes her hand and the light disappears. “By channeling the energy floating through your body. You give it a form,” she explains. “it can be a ball, or flashes, or just like water. In that form, you can use it as a weapon. But it’s not the only thing I can do. It’s just the only one that looks cool.” She grins and Stiles laughs. He _does_ like her. She’s funny.

Jennifer gets serious fast though. “As cool as magic is, it can be dangerous, Stiles. Never forget that. It can hurt people. That’s why it’s so important to learn how to use it.” She looks over at Peter. “Just like it’s important werewolves learn how to control their wolf at the full moon.” Peter nods. Stiles does too, he gets what they’re trying to tell him. It makes the whole thing a bit more scary. He doesn’t want to hurt people. Doesn’t want to hurt his Dad, or Peter or anyone else. But he's actually not really sorry he threw that one bad man - the hunter - against a wall. He wanted to hurt Peter.

“There have been mages,” Jennifer continues her explanation, “Who lost control over their magic and it became dark, destroying everything in their path. They grew power hungry and lost their way. But that’s not going to happen to you. Because you have a lot of people who care about you.” She smiles and Stiles feels a warm glowing in his chest. “Most mages can manipulate energy, move things with their will and heal wounds. But usually, we specify in one of these things, become either healers or protectors and warriors. I’m a warrior and a teacher. Mages often have spirit animals. Mine is a crow. Spirit animals choose you and they can be teachers, guides and friends. They come to you when you need them."

Stiles tries to take all that information in. That spirit animal thing sounds like a patronus. It would be awesome, to have his own patronus. “Okay. So I have to decide what to become? Healer or, or warrior and protector? And how do I know if I have a spirit animal and what it is? Is it a wolf because I bonded to Peter’s?” He frowns at Peter. “Is Peter’s wolf my spirit animal?” 

Jennifer shakes her head. “No, Peter’s wolf chose you as his anchor and soulmate. A spirit animal is different. We’re going to find out. Sit on the tree stump,” she tells him. 

Stiles obeys. When he sits on the Nemeton, he can feel the buzzing getting a bit louder and he feels like something is reaching out to run invisible gentle fingers over his back, but he doesn’t feel scared. He’s not in danger. Jennifer approaches him and gently puts a hand on Stiles’ forehead. “Close your eyes,” she says softly. He does. The world goes dark, except from some flashes of light from the sunbeams falling through the trees. He feels the light pressure of Jennifer’s hand and the nemeton under him. A moment of silence passes, only disrupted by his breaths and the call of a blackbird somewhere. 

Stiles flinches a bit, when Jennifer’s voice cuts through the silence. “Ah yes, I feel it. Wit and strength of will, courage and wisdom,” she says and Stiles can _hear_ the smile in her voice. He can't believe what she's able to read in him with only the touch of her hand. “Your energy is capricious. It feels more like a wild stream than a smooth surface. Your spirit animal is a fox. Cunning, able to be swift in tricky situations, increased awareness and an affinity with nocturnal activities. You can open your eyes now, Stiles.” He does and sees Jennifer looking at Peter with her lips twitching. “A fox to your wolf. How extraordinary.” 

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Why extraordinary?” 

“Foxes and wolves tend to not get along,” Peter explains and shrugs.   
  
Stiles frowns. “Well, Peter and I do get along. So obviously, that is bullshit.” He gasps and quickly presses his hands on his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbles out of habit. “Bad word.” 

Jennifer only smiles. “Now that we know more about your magic, we’ll have to work on your ability to be more aware of the energy inside you and to channel it. Otherwise, it’s like wild water. Uncontrollable, erratic and too strong,” she explains. 

“Okay. How do I do that?” Stiles asks.

“Close your eyes again and focus on what’s happening inside you,” Jennifer advises him. "It's going to take all your concentration."  
  
“But ... I’m not good at concentrating and focusing,” Stiles murmurs and lowers his head. His face starts to burn. “Everyone always says so.” Suddenly, he’s scared he won’t be able to do this whole magic thing. What if he can’t control it and it will hurt the people he loves? What if he’s going to fail because he can’t learn? He has to swallow heavily when he remembers school. When he remembers his exasperated teachers, their frowns and raised eyebrows. Their words. _Why can’t you sit still for once, Stiles? Stop playing with your pencils, Stiles, or I’ll take them away! Do you really want me to call your father, Stiles? Again?!_  
  
Peter’s voice interrupts the spate of word echos in his mind. “I’ve seen you reading, Stiles. You do it for hours. You can focus if it’s something that gets your attention. Something, that interests you. Don’t worry. You got this.”  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath and nods. He shifts on the tree stump until he’s sitting comfortable and closes his eyes. He tries to feel for the energy inside him. Until now, he could only feel it, when it came to the surface when he was angry or scared. For a moment, there’s not much to feel. He’s a bit hungry and he’s cold, because the sun disappeared behind grey clouds. But suddenly, there’s a flicker of … something. Something, that seems to be magnetic, pulling at him. He imagines reaching for this flicker and almost startles, when he hears a faint crackle. “Very good,” he hears Jennifer’s pleased voice, sounding like it comes from a great distance. “Can you feel it?” She asks.

“Yes,” Stiles murmurs. 

“Then reach for it. Try to give it a form. Imagine how you want it to look like. Imagine you hold it in your hand.” 

“Okay.” Stiles doesn’t know why, but the first thing he thinks of is fire. So he tries to imagine a flame. 

“Open your eyes, Stiles,” Jennifer says.  
  
He does. He opens them and looks at his hand. His breath hitches. His hand is surrounded by light. It’s red. Red energy, flickering and dancing in the palm of his hand like the flame of a candle, buzzing quietly. Stiles watches it in a detached kind of awe. It doesn’t hurt. It only tickles. 

Out of the corners of his eye he catches a glimpse of Jennifer, Deaton and Peter. They’re all staring at him. Jennifer and Deaton look pleased. Peter looks … a bit wary. The energy is reflected in his eyes, the light of it dances over his scars, and Stiles feels his stomach drop slightly when he realizes that he made his magic look like fire of all things. He remembers the glimpses of memories he saw when he connected with Peter’s wolf. The fire licking up the ceiling and eating the pictures at the wall. The screams. The pain. Fire is not good. Maybe, he should try to give it another form … Suddenly, the energy in his hand dances wilder. The flame grows and its form gets more jagged. Stiles stares as it takes over his hand, then his arm, licking at him. Peter takes a step forward and now, his eyes are filled with worry. But Jennifer shakes her head at Peter. “Pull it back, Stiles,” she says softly. 

Stiles takes a shaky breath. The red energy is now at his shoulder. His whole right arm is consumed by it. “How? I … I don’t know how.”  
  
“It’s part of you. You are controlling it. Just tell it to go back.”  
  
Stiles closes his eyes again. He tries to focus back on the energy, on the flickering inside him. Go back inside, he tells it, as loud and firm as he can. Go back! For a moment, nothing happens, and Stiles is about to get scared, but then, the tingling disappears from his arm and the flicker quietly fades. “I did it,” he says astonished, opening his eyes. “I did it, right? But … that wasn’t very good, was it,” he says, looking down at his hands sadly. Of course he had to do something wrong. Of course he couldn’t do it right on the first try. 

But Jennifer reaches out to touch his shoulder gently. “No, that was great. You did well. Very well, Stiles,” she assures him. “I think you’re going to learn very fast.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, feeling surprised. He finds only honesty in Jennifer’s eyes, when she nods and smiles. Stiles relaxes. He looks at Peter, who is leaning against the tree again, his face unreadable. 

Stiles feels a bit tired. Maybe, Jennifer can feel it, because she says, “I’m going to tell you your last task for today. I want you to close your eyes again and try to feel something else this time. Try to feel Peter’s wolf. His energy. And when you find it, I want you to try to see him.” 

Stiles frowns. That sounds complicated. “See him?” He asks carefully. 

Jennifer nods. “Since you can feel and manipulate energy, you should be able to see supernatural energy in its true form.” 

“Can _you_ see Peter’s wolf?” Stiles asks astonished. 

“Yes,” she says, and somehow, something in her voice sounds like she doesn't exactly like what she sees. 

Stiles looks at Peter, who gives him a small smile and a nod. “Okay,” he mumbles. “I’m going to try.”  
  
He closes his eyes and instead of listening inside, he tries to catch a glimpse of Peter’s energy in the darkness. He did it before, but not intentionally. He finds the flicker of energy quite quickly, maybe because Peter is sending it his way. Stiles carefully follows the thread of pulsing energy. It feels … strange. He can’t really decipher the sensation. It’s gone the next moment, when the energy actually touches him and seems to caress him. He smiles and opens his eyes. His breath hitches. “I can see him,” Stiles whispers in awe. His heart is pounding in his chest. The world is blurry, but the wolf in front of Peter is crystal clear. A huge white, slightly transparent wolf-formed shadow with glowing blue eyes. The wolf stares at Stiles and tilts his head to the side. Stiles feels the thread between them and it’s strong, but it also sends some conflicting emotions his way. Gentleness mixes with ferocity and a restless firm urge to dig teeth into something warm, something ...

 _Oh_ , Stiles thinks, and his heart beats faster. _It’s Kate, isn’t it? You want her to feel the pain._ He shivers a bit when he gets the mental image of blood. 

The wolf raises his head and makes a noise that sounds agreeing. 

Stiles feels a sharp hint of sadness. _It won’t change anything. It won’t bring them back. They’re gone._ Just like his mother. Nothing will bring her or anyone else who died back. 

The wolf growls.

Stiles flinches and all of a sudden, the world comes back and the wolf is gone, leaving only Peter, who looks at Stiles with wide eyes. 

Stiles feels deep exhaustion coming over him. Exhaustion, vague fear and sadness, mixed with the lingering excitement from the beginning of his lesson. 

Jennifer watches him closely. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Just really tired,” Stiles murmurs, wiping his burning eyes. He wants his bed. Deaton looks at Jennifer. “I think we should finish here,” he says quietly. She nods. “This was a lot, I know. Actually using magic costs a lot of energy. You did well, Stiles. We will soon meet for another lesson.”  
  
Stiles only nods. He’s too tired to say anything. Peter crouches beside the tree stump. “Come on. We go home,” he says quietly. 

Stiles climbs on Peter’s back again and yawns. His eyes are so heavy. It gets more and more difficult to keep them open, so he allows them to close. Peter is warm and the steady movements of his steps make Stiles even sleepier. He falls into a dreamless slumber while Peter goes back through the forest.  
  


* * *

Stiles sleeps for a few hours and Peter uses the time to update Derek and the Sheriff about what they did in the forest. Noah can barely believe it. He asks question after question, until Peter feels pretty tired himself. He has to go for a walk eventually. His wolf is agitated, pacing like a caged tiger, growling to himself one moment, and whining the other.  
  
Peter knows magic is a coin with two sides. He knows it can be as helpful as it can be dangerous. He knows there’s a certain part of magic inside himself and every other werewolf. But he has never felt magic like this, in his own body and soul. Feeling Stiles actually reaching for and connecting to the wolf felt strange. It felt like human and wolf were separated for a moment and when Stiles let go, everything was put back into place. And ever since, the wolf is erratic. 

And then there was Stiles’ energy … It took the form of a flame. Peter remembers seeing the flame licking at Stiles’ skin without hurting it. He remembers feeling an echo of unbearable pain blinding everything out and the echo of screams. He found himself reaching for the scars on his face. Everything inside him suddenly wanted to protect Stiles, especially when the energy started to consume the kid’s whole arm. He would have thrown himself into the fire if Stiles was in danger. But … Nothing happened to Stiles. He had fire that wasn’t burning. Peter doesn’t know what to think about this.

When he comes back to the house, Stiles is up and everyone is hungry. Peter can hear their stomachs rumbling. He decides to make Spaghetti. It doesn’t take too long and everyone likes it. Of course there are memories connected to Spaghetti, like to almost everything else. The kids loved it. He remembers wiping tomato sauce splotches from small faces and scolding Leah for putting too many noodles onto her fork, telling her she would end up with stomach ache.

Peter tries to shove the pictures away and focus on the current ones. He’s had enough of that for today. 

Sometimes, he just wants to take all the memories of his past life, throw them into a suitcase and bury it on the bottom of the river. 

While he’s seasoning and stirring the sauce, Stiles is sitting close to him on the kitchen counter and carefully cuts onions for a salad, with the top of his lip visible between his lips. They found out the boy is the only one who doesn’t get teary eyes from it and Stiles loudly declared it as his newest cool superpower, making Peter’s lips twitch at least a little. 

Derek comes into the kitchen eventually, asking if he should help. He looks almost sheepish and avoids Peter’s eyes, clearly still feeling guilty. Peter sends him to lay the table. Derek shouldn’t be let near to food, he knows from experience. Although he has enough of memories, he finds himself telling Stiles about the one time Derek tried to make Spaghetti for their family and ended up confusing chilli powder with paprika powder. Everyone almost fell of their chairs when they tasted the sauce. They had troubles breathing and had to drink tons of water. Stiles almost falls off the counter, laughing until he holds his belly.  
  
His bright laughter makes Peter feel better and he smiles genuinely this time, especially when Derek grumbles, “That was one time. One time!” 

Later, when they’re all sitting at the table, he feels a lot better. His wolf is quiet, as he watches Stiles, Noah and Derek eating and chatting. This is a good pack, he thinks. Not big, but solid and warm. He wants to protect it.  
  
His chest warms, when Stiles smiles at him, his mouth red from the sauce. He reaches out to wipe the splotches away with a tissue and Stiles protests half-heartedly, telling everyone he’s not a little child. The Sheriff laughs.  
  
This is good, Peter thinks. And it makes him feel warm, but it also makes him wary.  
  
Because … Good things never last.

* * *

Outside, the woman in the car lowers her spyglass and smiles at what she’s seen. What a nice little pack, she thinks. They are so cozy, it’s almost disgusting. It would be such a shame if something happened to them.   
  
She looks at herself in the mirror, smiling some more and stroking a blonde strand of hair out of her face.  
  
It really is time to stop playing around, the woman thinks. Every game has to end. Nothing can last forever.  
  
But that doesn't mean, she can't have a little bit more fun.

The woman throws her hair back and starts the car. 


	8. Chapter 8

The night is restless for everyone. 

Noah can’t stop tossing and turning. He falls into a light slumber only to wake up half an hour later, blinking at the neon numbers on the alarm clock sullenly. He’s no stranger to such nights. He knows he will have a headache in the morning. Knows he will feel exhausted most of the next day. 

He sighs and closes his eyes again, trying to turn off the thinking. It’s hard. The worries are loudest in the silence of the night. 

Painful memories of Claudia mingle with the aftershock of seeing his own house in flames and knowing Stiles is still in there. Stiles … His thoughts turn to the incredulous new world he found himself in because of his son. A part of him wishes he would have never learned the truth. The world was so simple before …  
  
Now, he has two werewolves in his house and a son who has to learn to control his suddenly awakening magic abilities. Now, he has to worry about a group of ruthless hunters. It sounds like one of Stiles’ fantasy stories.  
  
The numbers on the clock change again. It’s almost 4 am. Noah sighs again, wiping his burning eyes. He feels a rush of shame when he momentarily thinks about going downstairs, about the still half full - or half empty? - bottle of Scotch there. He pushes that away and calls himself a pathetic coward. Getting drunk isn’t the answer. He lost the fight against the desire to drown his emotions in alcohol far too often. He’s not going to lose it now. 

_Therapy_ , he thinks soberly. _I should go to therapy too_. Stiles had a few sessions after the fire. Noah thought he didn’t need any. But maybe, he should have talked to someone after all, getting rid of at least a bit of the old baggage. 

He dozes off with that thought. 

For at least an hour this time. 

* * *

Derek can’t fall asleep at all. He’s laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Peter is fast asleep beside him. Their shoulders are brushing slightly and it feels good to be close. To be close to someone who smells like family. The pack bond is getting stronger and that feels good to. If only not everything good would be overshadowed by the sharp guilt always burning in his chest ...  
  
Derek sighs. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be an Alpha, doesn’t deserve the trust Peter showed him by letting Derek claim him, doesn’t deserve to be in this house, surrounded by kindness and acceptance. He doesn’t deserve this. 

He started this nightmare. He started this, when he allowed Kate to step into his personal space, when he allowed her to manipulate him. He started this. Even after all these years, he can still feel the echo of Kate’s breath on his skin. Can still feel her lips on his, curling into a smirk as she gripped his hair - always on the edge of being too painful, too uncomfortable. Back then, he thought it had to be like this. She told him a good lover had to fulfill the other one’s desires and had to forget about their own needs sometimes, so he did. Today, he knows she was just toying with him. She was just taking what she could before she got what she needed to fulfill her plans. He was just a means to an end and she tried to have as much fun as possible, before she got rid of him.  
  
When he came back to Beacon Hills, Derek wanted to see the burned out house. It was a strange but strong urge. He was standing in front of the charred building he once lived in, his throat feeling tight and his heart pounding. He could still smell smoke and feel the echo of desperation and pain surrounding the house. Combined with the memories of his family, it was too much. He turned and ran. He ran around until he found Peter’s scent and followed it to an alleyway, until he jumped into the group of hunters, blind with rage.  
  
Derek feels too agitated to sleep, so he decides to go for a run.

He gets up as quiet as possible, but Peter doesn’t even stir. Derek knows that’s something he should worry about. In the past, Peter was so alert, it was impossible to sneak out of the house or to come home late without him noticing. He decides, to worry later. Now, he needs to move. 

Derek leaves the house and starts to run. 

Maybe he should try therapy too, he thinks while inhaling the sharp fresh night air. He can hardly imagine going to a human and telling them about his feelings, but if Peter is doing it, it can’t be that bad. 

* * *

Stiles startles awake from the vague fading pictures of a nightmare that consisted of his old smoke-filled room and the grin of a bad man with a weapon. He blinks into the dim light the night lamp is spreading and counts from 1 to 100 to calm himself down, something the therapist he went to for a few sessions after the fire happened told him to do. He’s at 83 when he hears the noises. 

Low whimpers and choked off sobs. They come from the guest room. _Peter_ …

Stiles’ chest starts to feel tight. He knows it’s an echo of Peter’s feelings. Driven by the instinctive urge to help him feel better, he gets up, shivering when his bare feet meet the cold floor. After a moment of hesitation, he unplugs his night lamp and takes it with him. 

When Stiles carefully opens the door to the guest room, he hears another whimper that sounds more like a whine. Peter is writhing on the bed. His claws are out and have torn the bed sheet in some places. His face is tense and his brows drawn together. He radiates desperation and fear. 

Stiles puts the night lamp on the floor, plugs it in and switches it on. After, he climbs on the bed and reaches out to touch Peter’s forehead. 

* * *

Everything burns and he can’t get out. An invisible wall is holding him back. He throws himself against it again and again. Every time, he’s pushed back and his hands ache. The fire licks up the walls and over the ceiling, forming a bow. The heat is unbearable. The smoke makes everything blurry and he can’t breathe, his throat closing against the onslaught of poisonous gasses mingled with wolfsbane.  
  
He can’t get out. No one can. They are dying around him, the children first, passing out from the smoke before the fire can reach them. He presses against the mountain ash barrier again, sobbing. Someone’s charred hand grabs his ankle painfully hard, pulling. He doesn’t care. He’s ready to just lay down and close his eyes. So he just does that. He closes his eyes and thinks that maybe, this is just a horrible nightmare. He’s going to wake up in his bed, is going to pull a pillow over his head to fade out the laughter of the children downstairs and Derek’s horrible rap music. It’s going to be another ordinary day …  
  
But when he opens his eyes, he’s in the forest instead in his bed. It’s still better than being in the burning basement. At least, until he takes a few staggering steps and suddenly stumbles over a body on the ground. He looks down and gasps. It’s Laura. Laura is laying in the dirt and she looks up at him, her eyes open and accusing. _Why didn’t you save me?_ They say. _Why didn’t you save them? Why …_

He takes a few steps back, his hands shaking when he covers his eyes with them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasps.  
  
Suddenly, leaves rustle and he flinches. Something slips out between the bushes almost soundlessly. It’s a fox. A fox with a beautiful winter coat, the red fur is thick and long, almost glossy. It looks at him with sparkling amber eyes.  
  
He stares at it, transfixed. Somehow, the fox feels … familiar. It radiates a warmth he felt before. Without thinking, he stumbles toward the fox which remains standing there, completely calm. He crouches down in front of it and hesitantly reaches for it. The fox nuzzles his hand. He smiles. And wakes up.

Peter startles awake with a gasp, staring up into the void. The echo of his dream makes him shiver. It takes a moment until he registers the hand on his forehead. The touch is gentle. Cool and soft. 

He focuses and sees Stiles face hovering above him. He frowns. “Stiles? What are you doing?” 

“You were having a bad dream. I wanted to make you feel better,” Stiles says, slowly taking his hand away. 

Peter swallows. He notices that his claws are digging into the blanket and retracts them. “I could have hurt you,” he says with a shiver, as he briefly imagines his claws digging into Stiles’ back instead into the blanket.   
  
But Stiles just smiles and snuggles against him. “I had a bad dream too,” the boy murmurs and Peter hesitantly wraps his arms around him. “And it was about fire. Was yours too?” 

Peter swallows heavily. “Yes. Always.” His therapist calls it chronic, recurrent nightmares, caused by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She wanted to use medication to battle them, but Peter refused. He didn’t think they would help, unless he took a bottle of pills at once and that would have been suspicious. She tried to teach him a technique to change the outcome of his dreams then, and he thinks he partly managed it with getting himself from the basement to the forest, but now Laura appeared in the nightmare too. Another ghost haunting him.  
  
Stiles yawns. He seems to have dozed off already. Peter focuses on the steady beat of Stiles' heart and closes his own eyes. Only now he notices, that Derek is gone. The place where he slept on the bed is cold. He’s too exhausted to worry too much. He falls asleep with his nose buried in Stiles’ hair. When he wakes up in the morning, Derek is back, sleeping beside them, smelling of the forest. 

* * *

“Aunt Kate!” Allison shrieks and runs through the garden to hug Kate, her eyes sparkling. 

Kate smiles. She crouches down and opens her arms, laughing when the girl almost knocks them both over. She is happy to see her niece again, after so many years. “Oh my, look at you. You’re such a big girl now,” she says, looking Allison up and down and the girl grins proudly. 

Kate looks up and there’s Chris, leaning in the door, his face serious as he watches them. There’s something cautious in his posture, and Kate knows, just knows, that he found out. Of course one of the idiot hunters who weren’t able to tackle a pathetic excuse of a werewolf and a little child had to spill the beans. She guesses Peter Hale ran to Christopher as soon as he knew. It wasn’t something Kate was counting on. It’s a shame. It reduces the chances of having Chris on her side.  
  
She also didn’t count with Derek returning to Beacon Hills. She thought the threats would keep him away. But now he’s back and since Laura died he’s the Alpha. 

Kate has to admit she made some mistakes. She should have gotten rid of Peter earlier. She should have lured Derek into a trap as well. It would have made things so much easier. Now, it’s going to get messy. 

Kate smiles at Chris. “Did you miss me, big brother?” 

Chris doesn’t return her smile. He looks at Allison. “Ally, go inside and lay the table, would you. Let me have a word with aunt Kate.”  
  
Allison pouts and looks between them, definitely not happy to be sent away, but she obeys, disappearing inside the house. 

Kate gets up and smooths down her jacket. “She’s so much taller than when I last saw her. How old is she now?”

“Eleven,” Chris says curtly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you do it?” He asks sharply, not wasting any time. 

“What do you mean?” She asks, arching her eyebrow, acting like she doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about.

Chris glares at her. “Did you kill the Hales?”

Kate smirks and raises her chin. “I did.” 

Chris sighs. He runs a hand through his short hair and when he speaks, his voice sounds strained. “They didn’t do anything. They were peaceful. They were protecting Beacon Hills against real threats. The truce between them and the hunters was centuries old. There were humans in the pack, _children_. Jesus, Kate!” 

“Are you done?” Kate hisses. She’s definitely getting angry now. It feels like she's getting scolded. There's no reason for that. “Are you done whining? I did what we were trained to do our whole life. I killed abominations. I took care they won’t hurt anyone. They all snap, Chris. You can't trust them. That’s what father taught us.”  
  
“They always were in control. You’re so blinded by your hate, you can’t see past it!” Chris calls out, clenching his hands into fists. 

Kate snorts. “I’m the one who’s blind?! You’re the blind one! This is a simple world. We’re the hunters and they are the monsters. Our job is to keep humans safe. I did that.”  
  
Chris shakes his head. His eyes fill with disappointment and that makes Kate more angry than anything else. “You did something horrible, Kate. You didn't only break the code, you did something inhuman. And I … I can’t protect you. Not anymore.”  
  
The rage is sudden and violent. “I’m your _family_ , Christopher,” she spits. “You still want to favor some abomination you fucked when you were a teenager over your own flesh and blood?” 

She feels a hint of satisfaction, when Chris’ face falls. “Shut up,” he grits out. “Just … shut up. You have no idea. You don’t know what happened ...”

Kate huffs. “I know enough. And I’m going to finish the job. I’m going to wipe out the last monsters in this town.” 

Chris shakes his head, looking almost sad. “Don’t do this, Kate. Don’t. Peter was here, you know. He talked to me. He told me what you did. I told him to do what he has to do. Like I said, I won’t - can’t - be there to protect you, Kate. You’re on your own.” 

Kate accepted that by now. Even when it hurts a bit. Chris is her brother after all. “You’re pathetic. Does little Allison know what killed her mother? Does she know?” She can’t help but bringing it up. "Or are you feeding her lies?"

Chris looks like he received a punch in the guts. “Stop it, Kate.” 

“She’s old enough, Christopher. Old enough to hold a knife. You want to keep her from her birthright? Father would …” 

Chris bangs a fist against the doorframe. “No,” he barks and Kate suddenly feels like taking a step back. Like backing away from her brother’s ferocity. “No, Allison won’t grow up like we did. She won’t grow up with stories about bloodthirsty monsters, she won’t be woken up at night, forced to learn how to use weapons. No.” 

Kate shakes her head. She feels betrayed. “You’re pathetic. I knew you always had a weakness for the monsters, my, maybe you even wish you were one of them, huh?” 

Chris just glares at her. “Stay away from my family, Kate, I warn you. I won’t help you. You started this. You will bear the consequences alone. Goodbye.” He disappears in the house without looking back, slamming the door shut. It feels like a punch in the face. Kate grits her teeth. She turns on her heels and walks back to her car fast. 

Derek might be inexperienced and probably crippled from guilt, but he’s an Alpha. He’s strong. Peter might be weakened from the coma, but he’s been a left hand almost his whole life, he knows how to deal with threats and he’s sly. And that kid … She doesn’t know anything about the boy’s magic. Doesn’t know how much he can control it. And the Sheriff obviously learned nothing from the fire in his very own house.

Kate knows she has to be careful from now on. Otherwise, she’s going to lose this game. Is going to end up with her throat ripped out or worse. 

She needs a leverage.  
  


* * *

  
Stiles takes a deep breath. He focuses on the empty bottle standing on the forest floor a few metres away. He reaches for the energy inside him. It’s much easier now. He imagines throwing it against the bottle like a ball. Like he would do at a ball toss stand at the funfair.

The bottle wobbles. And falls. 

Stiles cheers and jumps into the air, bumping his fist into the air. “I did it!” It was only a weak push, but it was there. He focused his magic and it did what it was supposed to do. 

Jennifer smiles. “Well done, Stiles. Let’s do it again.” She puts the bottle back up and takes some steps back, crossing her arms. They are alone right now. Deaton is working at the clinic, Stiles’ father is at the station, and Derek wanted to go to the Hale vault, in the hope of catching a scent of whoever broke into it.

Peter brought Stiles to Jennifer but then disappeared, mumbling something about taking a walk. Ever since the nightmare, he has been withdrawn. When Stiles felt for his wolf, he felt a combination of rage and regret, and he had to pull back, because it felt like it gripped his heart and tore into it. He didn’t like that at all. He hopes, Peter can calm down when he’s alone and will return with a less dark aura surrounding him.  
  
Stiles knocks the bottle over a few times more, until he feels a bit exhausted.  
  
Jennifer tells him to sit down when she notices, and hands him an apple.

“I wish I could use magic for school too. I would create a doppelganger and he would be there for me, while I do interesting things,” Stiles tells her, biting into the apple. The image in his head is awesome. His magic self could write all the tests, while Stiles learned about supernatural things.  
  
“You don’t like school?” Jennifer asks, biting into her own apple. 

Stiles shakes his head frantically. “I _hate_ school. It’s boring. Everything is so slow and they don’t want you to ask questions. My teachers don’t like me. Well, aside from Mrs. Coulter, my math teacher. She says I’m too smart and lets me go forward in the book, that’s okay.”

Jennifer chuckles. “I didn’t like school much either. But well, you have to pull through sometimes. Endure it.” 

Stiles shrugs. “I’d rather learn about magic the whole day. Can we try the give magic a form thing again? I want to be able to hold it longer.”  
  
Jennifer nods. “We can try that, but not too long. You’re already exhausted.”  
  
“Am not!” Stiles quickly calls, but then he can’t suppress a yawn and Jennifer chuckles. 

* * *

Noah is going through the files of the Hale fire. He had to search the whole basement for the box containing them. Someone obviously wanted them gone as fast as possible. It makes him wonder, if there’s someone at the station who knew who set the fire.  
  
It would be great to find a lead. Something to start. But … There isn’t anything. He reads through the depressingly thin file again and again, looks at the pictures and goes through the reports of the firefighters. Nothing.  
  
Noah flinches when he sees pictures of Peter’s injuries. No human being could have survived this, he thinks. He looks over his shoulder, suddenly asking himself, if there are any supernatural beings in his own station. But didn’t Peter say most left after the fire, shocked and scared for their own lifes? 

Deputy Parrish meets his searching glance with a slightly questioning frown.  
  
Noah sighs and looks back at the files, rubbing the back of his head. Without a confession, it’s going to be almost impossible to prove Kate Argent’s guilt. Maybe, he should go back to the crime scene, looking for anything that could have been overseen.  
  
He puts the files into his bag and leaves the station after a nod towards Parrish. 

When he exits, Noah has to blink rapidly into the sudden bright light. He grimaces when his head starts to ache. Just like he thought, the little sleep he got last night is showing consequences. He rubs his temples and takes a few deep breaths. On the way to his car, he suddenly feels a shiver running down his back. Suddenly, he feels like he’s being followed. 

When he turns around, he sees a woman approaching him. She looks vaguely familiar, with her long blond hair and her sharp lineaments.  
  
“Sheriff Stilinski?” She asks, smiling.  
  
Noah blinks. “That’s me. How can I help you?”  
  
She smiles some more and shows her teeth. It looks almost predatory. “My name is Kate Argent. I’m sorry, but this is nothing personal, Sheriff.”  
  
When he hears the noise behind him, Noah instinctively tries to turn around, tries to reach for the weapon resting against his hip, but he’s too slow. Something blunt hits him with full force and the world goes black. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for: canon typical violence, blood, torture, insults and Kate being Kate.

Peter walks through the forest until he stands on a clearing. He didn’t know his steps were leading him here. But now, it makes perfect sense. He knows this clearing. Knows the quiet murmuring from the little stream snaking its way through the undergrowth. Knows the way the light is filtered by the bouquet of foliage above and draws dancing shadows into the frozen grass. 

On this clearing he has taught a much younger Derek how to listen to his instincts. How to use his inner wolf to distinguish between the different layers of noises and smells. Here, he has kissed Christopher Argent for the first time. Here, they have met regularly. Here, where they were far away from their families’ feud. Where they could forget that their lifes has been prestructured for them.

Peter remembers it all so vividly, it’s like it was only yesterday, not many years ago. He can see them sitting on the meadow, side by side, shoulders brushing gently. He can see them sharing kisses. It’s been long ago and it shouldn’t still affect him, but somehow, it does. He takes off his shoes and lays on his back, not caring about the cold and staring up at the snippet of the sky visible through the treetops. When he imagines hard enough, he can hear the words shared between them, on the last day they’ve met here.   
  


It was summer back then, not winter. It was summer, and the grass was green. Christopher was silent that day. He carried a new bruise around. A purple spot on his arm, already turning yellow on the edges. Peter stared at it and felt the anger coming in waves. “We could leave,” he said. “We could leave this stupid town and move away, somewhere else. Somewhere, where no one knows the names Hale or Argent.” 

Chris frowned, running his fingers through the culms. “You can’t leave your pack. Your family. It would make you an Omega.”  
  
Peter shrugged. “I don’t care. I would do it for you.” He meant it. He meant it because he was in love and young and foolish. “Alternatively,” he said slowly, smirking, “We could just kill Gerard.”  
  
That earned him a frown and a sharp glance from Christopher. Peter shrugged. “You have to stop being scared of him.”  
  
Chris scowled, his fingers gripping the grass instead of stroking it. “I’m not scared.” 

“Your heart and the smell clinging to you say otherwise. Seriously, Christopher, how long do you want to let him tell you how to live your life? How long do you want to try to satisfy him? He doesn’t deserve you. What has he ever done for you? He sent you out with only a knife against a rogue werewolf. You could have died.” 

“I didn’t. It was training. I can’t do anything about being an Argent. Like you can’t do anything about being a Hale.” Chris sounded resigned. Peter hated it. 

There was a moment of silence between them, not at all comfortable. Eventually, Chris cleared his throat and said, “He wants to leave Beacon Hills. He got a call from another town. One with a much bigger problem with supernaturals … It’s far from here. Really far.”  
  
Peter froze slightly. He tried not to show it, but he started to feel scared. He didn’t want to lose Chris. Not now. “Don’t go with him. You can stay. My family would take you in, Talia …”

“Stop, Peter,” Chris said softly. And Peter realized he had already lost. He couldn’t accept it, of course. But he knew. “Meet me here, tomorrow, and we can talk about what to do,” he said.  
  
Chris hesitated, then he nodded. “Sure.” But he sounded far away already.  
  
Peter bit his lip and looked away. 

The next day, all he found at the clearing was a crumpled note, laid under a stone so it wouldn’t fly away. _I’m sorry._ _  
  
_

It hurt. It hurt like hell. But Peter got over it. He told Talia everything that night and for the first time since she became an Alpha, his older sister hugged him and showed him the kind of affection they shared before she had to grow up too fast and had too much responsibility. He clung to her like to an anchor, bathing in her comforting scent until it didn’t hurt so much anymore. Until it was an ache he could forget, if he tried hard enough.  
  
  
Peter frowns, sitting up and sighing. These memories are as painful as the others. There was a time when he thought Chris would be his mate. But it was stupid. In the end, blood was thicker than water, right? Chris let himself be pulled away by his abusive father. And now … Now Chris has a daughter. A family. Why did he have to come back to Beacon Hills with them. Peter wants to hate him for that. But he can’t. Even after all that happened, he can’t. It’s frustrating. He feels the sudden urge to leave the clearing. 

When Peter gets up, he feels numb with the cold. He shakes off the ripe and turns around. He leaves the clearing behind and follows his own track back to where he left Stiles with Jennifer. 

* * *

Stiles looks tired, where he sits on the Nemeton, his feet dangling. He looks up when Peter appears between the trees, a slight smile appearing on his face.  
  
“How did your lesson go?” Peter asks. Stiles shrugs. “I didn’t manage to make the bottle fly,” he says sullenly.

“But you managed to knock it over many times,” Jennifer chimes in, smiling. “You did fine. Remember: Small steps. Trust me, you don’t want to see what happens if you overdo magic.”  
  
Stiles perks up, his eyes sparkling with something like maniac excitement. “I think I do want to see that.”   
  
Peter laughs, Jennifer frowns slightly and shakes her head. “Our next lesson will have to wait for a while, I have to travel to another town immediately. They need some help with a feud between two witch covens which could easily end in a war.” 

Peter winces. Wars between witch covens are never pretty. 

Stiles pouts but murmurs a quiet, “Okay.” He yawns heartily and only remembers to put his hand in front of his wide open mouth, when it already dies away. Peter smiles. “You want to hop on my back again?”  
  
Stiles only nods, his movements a bit sluggish. Peter enjoys his warm weight and the closeness of Stiles’ heartbeat while he leaves the Nemeton behind after a fast goodbye to Jennifer, and walks back through the forest. 

Time passes in silence. Suddenly, Stiles shifts on his back. “Something … feels strange,” he whispers. Peter frowns. “What do you mean?” Stiles opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have time to say anything. 

Because the next second, the world explodes.  
  


* * *

  
Peter screams and presses his hands on his ears. The world sways and he loses all sense of orientation. His legs buckle and he stumbles, falling forward, not able to catch himself. Stiles cries out and lands on his back beside Peter, quickly turning towards him and reaching out. “Peter? Peter, what’s wrong?” His voice sounds confused and scared. 

Of course, he can’t hear it. Stiles as a human can’t hear the ear-piercing noises that surround them. It’s so loud and high, it makes Peter’s jaw clench and he thinks he can feel his ears bleeding. Ultrasonic emitters, his brain provides eventually. _Hunters._

“Peter!” Stiles calls out again, his voice barely audible over the high-pitched frequency only werewolves are able to hear. Peter wants to tell Stiles to run, but he can’t get his teeth to unclench. He writhes on the forest floor, groaning and trying to focus in vain. 

After what seems like ages, the sounds turn down a bit, but not enough. Boots step into Peter’s vision and he glances up at a face that makes him freeze and his wolf claw furiously at the edges of his mind. Kate Argent smirks down at him, holding a rifle in one hand and an emitter in the other. Two hunters stand beside her in full gear. “Look what we got here,” Kate says, tilting her head. “Did no one tell you it’s not wise to wander through the woods alone without your packmates? Oh, I forgot, you barely have any of those left, have you,” she taunts. 

“He’s not alone!” Stiles scrambles to get to his feet, clenching his hands into fists and raising his chin. “Stiles …” Peter still wants to tell him to run, feeling worried for the boy, but he can’t get the words out. 

Kate focuses on the boy now and smirks some more. “You must be Stiles. Nice to meet you. I heard you got some cool tricks.”  
  
“They’re not tricks. I can do magic. And I will, if you don’t leave Peter alone!” Stiles threatens, but he reeks of fear and Peter knows Stiles has used his magic too much today. He’s drained. 

“This is too cute,” Kate says, her eyes sparkling in ugly glee. “It makes me curious. Why would you protect someone like him. Do you know what he did? I guess he didn’t tell you anything about the bodies buried behind the Hale house, huh? 

“Whatever he did, it can’t be worse than what you did!” Stiles says and Kate’s smile falters a bit. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” she hisses. “But don’t worry, I will enlighten you. I have some plans.” She nods at the hunters behind her. “Tie them up. Time is running.”  
  
“I said, leave us alone!” Stiles calls out and raises a hand. The hunters freeze in their steps. But Kate only smirks. “I wouldn’t do that, Stiles, sweetheart.” She pulls out her phone and shows Stiles a picture. Stiles’ breath hitches. “No,” he whispers and starts to smell horribly. Like something inside him started to break. Peter cranes his neck to see the picture too. He thinks he sees a glimpse of the Sheriff, leaning against some stone wall, his eyes closed and dried blood on his forehead before Kate puts the phone away, and his wolf stirs, growling in rage. 

Kate destroyed his family and now she wants to do the same to his new one. He uses all his willpower to drown out the ear-piercing beeping and tries to get himself up, his claws and fangs out. 

“Really?” Kate asks and sounds slightly annoyed. “Don’t make things more difficult than they have to be, Peter.” 

He tries to lunge at her anyway, seeing red. She sighs and has her rifle up and ready as fast as only an experienced hunter can. 

The shot is deafening. The bullet shatters Peter’s knee cap and he yelps, dropping back to the ground, his body shaking with the agony running through his veins. Stiles screams in shock when he sees the blood. He looks from Peter to Kate, eyes wide. “You, you …”  
  
“Don’t look at me like that, with these huge brown Bambi eyes, that’s unfair,” Kate sighs, putting her weapon away. “He forced me to do it. Don’t _you_ force me to do something ugly too. Or your father has to suffer for it. If something happens to me, the men watching him won’t hesitate, you understand?” 

Stiles is still looking from Peter to her and back. He’s crying now, the tears rolling down his pale face. Peter wants to hug him. Wants to make everything go away. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, the desperation making it hard to breathe. _I’m so sorry, Stiles …_ Everything that happens now, is his fault. 

Stiles sniffles. Kate glares. “I said, do you understand, Stiles?”  
  
“I do,” the boy whispers, wiping the tears away. 

Kate nods in satisfaction. “Good,” she says almost brightly. “I heard you’re smart. Now … Where were we?” 

Stiles sobs. Peter looks at him intently. “It will be alright, Stiles,” he says as calmly as he can and Stiles holds his gaze, his eyes still wet, but with something dangerous gleaming inside of them. “It will be alright, Stiles …” _I won’t let anything happen to you._ He holds Stiles’ gaze until a needle pierces his skin and the world goes black in a matter of seconds.  
  


* * *

  
Derek knows something is wrong. Neither the Sheriff, nor Stiles and Peter returned home when it’s getting dark. No one of them is answering their phone. He doesn’t even reach Jennifer. Something is really wrong. And he’s all alone now. He paces the living room, trying to think straight. 

What could have happened? Were they all grabbed by hunters? By Kate and her hunters? The thought makes him shudder violently. He starts to hate himself again. What kind of Alpha is he? His whole pack is gone ...   
  
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Derek frowns. He sniffs the air and his frown deepens. It’s not Noah. Nor Peter or Stiles. It’s … Christopher Argent. Derek hasn’t smelled the hunter in years, but the scent is still branded into his memory, mainly because he smelled it on Peter often enough. He hesitates, but then there’s another urgent knock, and he decides to open. What else can he do? 

Chris looks relieved, when Derek opens, but he also seems worried and smells of rising panic. “Derek. Is Peter with you?”  
  
“No. Peter is … I don’t know where he is. He disappeared. Just like Stiles and his father,” Derek says, not sure if he’s supposed to trust Chris - another _Argent_ \- but there’s something about the way the hunter is standing there, that makes him think they are on the same side.  
  
“Oh God,” Chris says, sounding stunned. He radiates misery. “Derek … My daughter, Ally, I can’t find her either. I wanted to pick her up from her violin class, but she wasn’t there anymore.” The smell of panic intensifies.  
  
“It’s Kate,” Derek says, suddenly feeling no doubt about that suspicion. “She has all of them.”  
  
“Why would my sister abduct her own niece?” Chris asks, shaking his head. But something in his eyes tells Derek he considers it too. “That’s insane. Kate is … I know she did terrible things, but Ally is family!”  
  
“Why don’t you call her?” Derek suggests, crossing his arms. 

Chris swallows. “Yeah. I … I’ll do that.” He fumbles with his phone, his hand shaking slightly. They wait for a few moments, while there’s only steady beeping. Then, after what seems like ages, Kate picks up. “Yes?”  
  
Chris takes a deep breath. “Kate … It’s me. Have you seen Allison?” 

“Yes. She’s with me.”  
  
Derek’s stomach sinks. Chris makes a noise that resembles a groan. He supports himself on the doorframe, his face contorting. “Kate. What … what are you doing?” 

“I will show her the truth. She deserves it. It’s her birthright. You’ll thank me for this, Chris. You can’t keep her away from the truth forever. She needs to know.”  
  
Chris closes his eyes. “Kate. Don’t. Don’t do this. This isn’t right.” 

“It’s the only right thing to do. I told her that a werewolf killed her mother. That it was a feral beast you didn’t manage to put down. And I will show her how to handle such beasts. I will show her how to kill a monster.”  
  
Derek growls. Chris pales some more. “Kate. Please. Don’t do this.”  
  
“Like I said, you will thank me for this later, big brother.” She ends the call.  
  
Chris exhales shakily, putting his phone away. He looks up at Derek with wide eyes. “We have to find them.” 

Derek nods. “Can you track her phone?” 

Chris shakes his head. “She’s too smart for that. We’ll have to track them. And we’ll better hurry. Before my sister makes my daughter kill the man I love,” he says, making a noise that sounds like an hysterical sob. Derek can’t help but be surprised. “You still care about him?” 

Chris nods and reaches for the handle of the gun sitting in a holster at his hip. “I do. And I swore to never use a gun again, but I’ll protect what’s mine. No matter what it takes.”  
  
Derek flashes his eyes red. “Well. That makes two of us.”  
  


* * *

When Peter comes to, the world is blurry and the air is full of wolfsbane, making his nose almost blind. The pain running through his body is so even, he barely notices it, until he’s lucid enough to take his situation in. He’s in a basement, with stone walls and a low ceiling. He’s chained up and attached to an electric current - how creative ... But, he has to admit, it’s effective. The electricity is making it impossible to move and at he same time is preventing him from pulling the wolf back. His fangs are digging into his lips and he knows his eyes are gleaming blue. But ... he worries much more about the others. 

The Sheriff sits slumped on the floor, bleeding from a wound on his head. Stiles is at his side, his face buried in the crook of his father’s neck. He’s trembling. 

Kate is standing a few steps away from them, with her back to Peter. She’s arranging things on a table, humming a melody under her breath. 

There’s someone else. Someone new.

It’s Allison. Chris’ daughter. She’s standing in a corner, her wide eyes focused on Peter. She smells like confusion mixed with fear. He realizes she’s learning about the supernatural world only now. It must be a shock. And he slowly starts to understand, what Kate meant when she said, she has plans.  
  
Peter carefully stretches his muscles, trying out the chains. They’re solid, and too tight, cutting into the flesh of his wrists. He groans when the movement causes more pain. Allison makes a small noise. Kate turns to look at her niece, smiling fondly. 

“This is what your dad has been keeping from you. His secret. But you don’t need to be scared. I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself and how to kill monsters. It’s your right to know and learn, because you’re an Argent. The Argents have been hunting things like this -” she points at Peter, “For centuries. You should be proud, Allison.”  
  
Allison looks from her to Peter and back, her eyes filling with doubt. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she whispers. 

Kate frowns. She opens her mouth, but before she can talk, Stiles chimes in, his eyes spitting venom. “Peter isn’t a monster! Werewolves don’t have to be monsters, she’s lying. Peter saved my life and - “

“Shut up, boy,” Kate hisses and takes a step towards Stiles. Peter growls, a wave of rage rushing through him. “Don’t you dare touch him!” He yells, pulling at the chains, not caring about the burst of pain.   
  
Kate turns to look at him and huffs. “You’re in no position to threaten me, mutt. I think I’ll have to remind you, who’s in charge here.” She takes a remote into her hand, pressing a button, and the electricity intensifies, making Peter’s teeth clench together. The pain is white and sharp. When it stops, he has troubles breathing and Stiles is yelling at Kate to stop. She just smiles and pats Peter’s head. “You see, I’m in charge. Now be a good dog for me and stay silent while I talk to my niece. And you,” she says to Stiles, raising the remote, “You are quiet too, or I’m going to press the button longer next time.”  
  
Stiles grits his teeth and if looks could kill, Peter is sure Kate would be dead in an instant.  
  
Kate focuses back on Allison whose eyes are still wide and now filled with numb disbelief. “You see, that’s one thing to keep them docile. Electricity. It hurts them and can kill them. If you want to, you can try,” she says, offering the girl the remote. Allison looks at it and then at Kate, her lower lip trembling. “No.” 

“Well. Maybe later,” Kate says, putting the remote on the table. “I’m not expecting you to try the tough things now. For the moment, I just want you to understand, that what we’re doing here, is nothing bad, it’s not evil. Werewolves are monsters, and as hunters, it’s our task to protect humans from monsters. Werewolves are dangerous.”  
  
“All of them?” Allison whispers, glancing at Peter.  
  
Kate nods. “All of them. They might seem like normal people from time to time, they might seem nice and like you can trust them, but you can’t. They all snap eventually. And when they do, we are going to be there to stop them from hurting anyone.”  
  
“You’re lying,” Stiles bursts out, not able to contain himself. “They’re not all dangerous.” 

Kate glares at him, but doesn’t reach for the remote. She just shakes her head. “Stiles, have you ever seen a wolf jumping into a herd of sheep? They can’t help it, they’re going mad with bloodlust. We’ve been sloppy for far too long. We’ve let people getting hurt or killed, like your mother, Allison. We have to remind people of how dangerous monsters are and that we shouldn’t let them walk around freely.” She turns to look at Peter, her eyes spitting hatred. “We don’t let rabid dogs live, so why should we let abominations like werewolves live?”  
  
Peter scoffs. He returns Kate’s glare, feeling the rage and hatred rising inside of him, slowly pushing the pain away. “You’re disgusting. You’re so much your father’s daughter, it makes me sick. You can’t see past your prejudices, just like Gerard. My family kept Beacon Hills safe from any supernatural threats. We had a truce with the local hunters, and you destroyed it all. You burned my whole family. There were humans in the pack too and children. Innocent children. You are the monster here.”  
  
Allison’s eyes widen at that. “Is that true,” she says, looking at Kate and actually taking a step back. “Did you kill _children_ , aunt Kate?”

Kate’s confidence slips the tiniest bit. She scowls. “I told you to stay quiet, mutt,” she hisses. But at Allison directed she says, “They would have become monsters too. Bitten by their Alpha, to strengthen the pack.”  
  
Peter can’t believe the crap that comes out of Kate’s mouth. The crap Gerard teaches his young hunters. “That’s bullshit! The bite was always considered as a gift. Only those who wanted it would have receive it. They could have stayed humans their whole life. Chris would have known that …” _Because I told him._

“Don’t bring my brother into this,” Kate says, her eyes filling with disgust. “It’s bad enough I know he let himself be seduced by an abomination.”  
  
Peter opens his mouth to remind her what she did to Derek, but Kate chooses this moment to press the button on the remote again, watching him jerk with a smirk on her face. At least, she stops earlier this time. Peter tries to catch his breath and notices a movement out of the corner of his eye. While she keeps her eyes on her aunt, Allison’s fingers wander slowly down, towards the pocket of her jeans, where Peter can see the outline of a phone. His breath hitches. He knows he has to distract Kate some more. 

“You’re the pathetic one. You’re doing all of this because of jealousy,” he tells her. 

Kate freezes for a moment. She quickly tries to hide her reaction, but Peter has already seen it. He has hit a nerve. And he continues hitting it. “Daddy didn’t love you enough. We both know he preferred Chris and you think you can impress him with your actions. I can smell your daddy issues miles against the wind.”

“Shut up,” Kate hisses. 

Allison has the phone out a fraction now and does something with her fingers. She still looks terrified, but there’s also something very determined in her eyes.

Smart, brave girl. She’s so obviously Chris’, it almost hurts. 

“Daddy is still not going to love you more after this. He only loves himself and is unable to appreciate his children. Chris could never satisfy him, you can’t do it either," Peter continues. 

Kate snarls and pushes the button again. The world fades away into pain again, but at least, Kate is completely focused on him. “You’re one to speak," she spits, when Peter stops jerking. "If I get it right, you have been doing your family's dirty work for years and the rest of it still abandoned you. Look at you now. Still scarred and weak. To be honest, I’m disappointed. This was way too easy for my taste. I’m going to destroy your new pathetic little pack and then I’m going to kill you and let my niece help, to herald the start of her training. I think I’ll use fire, just for the nostalgic touch. Because … I really enjoyed burning your pack to the ground. It was the best thing I ever did. I enjoyed knowing I put you into a coma. And now, I’m going to get rid of you and the rest of your disgusting kind, like I’m supposed to.” 

“You won’t,” says a sharp voice, and then, the remote flies out of Kate’s hand, like it has its own will. Kate frowns and turns around. Stiles is standing there, his hands clenched into fists and his body surrounded by a light orange flicker. Allison stares at Stiles with wide eyes and open mouth, her fingers still frozen on her phone.

“You won’t hurt him or any of us. I won’t let you,” Stiles says, his voice shaking with anger and fear, and Peter thinks, the emotions gives him strength. And it’s not only Stiles … He feels himself getting stronger, like the energy is wandering from Stiles to him. And his wolf drinks it greedily.  
  
Kate scoffs. “You’re just a little boy. You don’t scare me. And I’m in charge here. There are enough hunters outside to help me. You think you have a chance against all of us?”

“I’m ready to try,” Stiles says, and Peter watches in astonishment, as the orange flicker forms into flames, licking all over Stiles’ body. Even Stiles’ eyes begin to glow, a fire burning inside them. The light slowly starts to take form, moving to create the transparent dancing shape of a fox.  
  
Kate looks surprised and slightly worried now. She pulls out her gun and the sight of the barrel pointed at Stiles, _his_ Stiles, his anchor and soulmate, is what makes Peter crack. He can feel himself snap, can feel the wolf coming forward with sudden ferocity - Peter doesn’t stop him. He roars and lets the agitated, angry wolf take control, more than he ever did, maybe. Chains break and he lands on all fours, his vision red at the edges, as he focuses on the burning urge to protect his soulmate, his pack, his _family_. 

Kate makes a surprised noise and turns on her heels, pointing the gun at Peter instead of Stiles. The shot is deafening loud in the basement and Allison screams. Peter feels a vague pain blooming in his shoulder, but he doesn’t pay attention to it. He fixates Kate’s throat and goes for it, slamming into her. Kate stumbles at the impact but manages to get her arm between her face and his snapping fangs, trying to press her gun against his jaw. Only, suddenly, the gun is pulled away from her by an invisible magic force and Kate screams in rage. 

Stiles stumbles backwards, sweat glistening on his forehead. The fox and the light around his body die away, going out like an exhausted candle. But Kate is defenseless now and Peter roars in triumph, gripping her and throwing her against the wall. She hits it with a sickening crack and slumps. Allison screams again. Peter ignores it. He hoists Kate up and presses her against him, wrapping one arm around her neck. His claws sit at her throat. He can feel her heartbeat under his fingers. A rapid drumming. _Finally …_ He inhales the scent of fear she's radiating. He remembers the fear he felt in the burning basement, remembers the flames, the heat, the smoke and the _screams_. “This is for my family,” he tells Kate, the words slurred around his fangs. He prepares for the final hit, when a voice cuts through the silence.  
  
“Peter,” Noah says, finally awake and slowly getting up on shaky legs, “Don’t do it.”  
  
Peter looks at the Sheriff, then at the two children in the basement, staring at him with wide eyes. He swallows. The wolf backs away slightly. “She killed my family. She left my body burned and broken for six years ..."

“Killing her won’t change anything,” Noah says quietly, his eyes filled with sadness. “It only puts her blood on your hands.” 

The wolf growls and thinks that bathing his claws in her blood is the only right thing to do. Peter fights a rush of desperation down. “She has to pay.”  
  
“She will. Thanks to Allison, we have everything she said on record and we have witnesses for what she did today. To you, to me, to Stiles and Allison. She will pay, Peter. But … Not like that,” Noah says, raising both hands.

Peter exhales shakily. He looks at Stiles, who stares at him with wide eyes and gives a gentle nod. He looks at Allison, who has tears in her eyes and her phone in her trembling hands. She looks terrified. Both children are terrified. The whole basement smells of fear and Peter realizes he would partly prove Kate’s point with tearing her apart. He sighs around the lump in his throat, pulls at the wolf and feels the rage ebbing down slowly as he’s taking back control. He closes his eyes and retracts his claws, shoving Kate away. She stumbles forward and Noah reaches for her immediately, telling her she’s under arrest for arson, murder, kidnapping and assault. Peter doesn't catch the words Kate hisses in return. He turns away when the Sheriff cuffs the woman who destroyed his life and ignores the wolf who is howling in disappointment. 

Only now he starts to feel the exhaustion creeping in. He lost a lot of blood and his body still doesn’t heal as fast as it used to before the fire. The last bullet Kate has fired had wolfsbane in it. He can feel the poison spreading in his bloodstream. 

Outside, there are a few shots and screams. Peter can hear Derek roar and smiles faintly, while supporting himself on a wall. His Alpha came. Late, but he came. A door opens and Peter is surprised, when Chris rushes in, calling Allison’s name. His daughter screams “Daddy” and runs to him. Derek comes in after Chris, staring around with wide eyes. Noah says something to him, while still gripping Kate’s shoulder. Stiles stands close to his Dad, his fingers holding on to Noah’s uniform. Peter is just glad, they’re alright. He’s so sorry they all had to go through this, because of him. But he’s sure they will be alright. God. He’s so tired.  
  
He hears Derek calling his name, but he can’t answer. His eyes flutter closed and he feels his legs giving way underneath him. He falls. But he doesn’t land on the rough floor. Instead, arms catch him, lowering him gently to the ground. “Peter …” It’s been a while, but Peter thinks he’s never heard Chris sounding so worried before. He wonders about it for a moment, until the world fades to merciful numb black once again. 


	10. Chapter 10

When Derek stumbles into the basement, his senses are screaming. The air reeks of fear, wolfsbane and singed hair. The dreadful combination mingles with the iron smell of blood on Derek’s shirt and he wrinkles his nose, looking around on high alert, accessing the situation in case he has to fight anyone else. 

His eyes fall on Kate first and his breath hitches. He can’t suppress a growl. Kate looks at him and manages to smirk even though she’s cuffed and the Sheriff is holding her firmly. Her hair is wild and her eyes are spitting venom. There are faint red claw marks at her neck which seem to tell a whole story. Noah looks at Derek and maybe, what’s in the wolf’s eyes startles him, because he raises one hand and says, “I arrested her. I’m going to get her to the station. She won’t get away.”  
  
Derek nods curtly. He knows it’s the right thing to do. Even though this woman destroyed his life and his family, he won’t just lunge at her. He's not the monster here. His eyes fall on the kids next. Stiles is standing beside his father, pressing his face into his uniform. He looks tired and is swaying on the spot. A crying girl clings to Chris who has his arms wrapped around her and Derek guesses that this is his daughter Allison. She’s a brave girl. Somehow while being kidnapped by her own aunt, dragged into this basement and introduced to the supernatural, she still managed to use her phone to give Derek and Chris her location.

Derek looks at Peter and immediately feels worried. Peter’s face is stone. The shirt he’s wearing is torn and dirty, there’s blood drying on it. He's injured and sways in front of Derek's eyes. "Peter," he calls. His uncle perks up and looks at him, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something, but no words come over his lips. Instead, he groans and collapses right in front of Derek's eyes. He startles and takes a step forward, but Chris Argent is faster, catching Peter although he still holds Allison.

Chris’ eyes are filled with worry and something more when he looks down at Peter, the intensity of his gaze making Derek’s throat clench. “How bad is it?” He asks, crouching down beside them. He knows Chris knows pretty much everything concerning the supernatural.  
  
Chris frowns and tries to lift up Peter’s shirt, but it clings to his skin. He instead rips it around the ragged bullet hole and looks at the skin. Black lines slowly start to spread out from the wound. “The bullet didn’t hit a critical point, but the poison is spreading already," Chris says. Derek curses under his breath.

“Will he be alright?”  
  
Chris and Derek both turn around at the question. Stiles is standing in front of them, his eyes full of worry. “He doesn’t feel right,” the boy sniffles. “He feels sick.”

Chris’ frown deepens. “Soulmate,” Derek says quietly, barely audible, and Chris’ eyes widen a bit. “Really?” He asks surprised, looking Stiles up and down. Something flicks over his eyes and Derek thinks he recognizes it as a hint of jealousy, but he isn’t sure. Whatever it is, it quickly makes place to the former worry.  
  
“There was wolfsbane in the bullet. It’s like poison for him. We have to get it out,” Derek explains to Stiles who sniffles again. Allison watches everything with wide tearful eyes.

“Let’s get him in the car and drive him to Noah’s. I’ll call Deaton and tell him to meet us there," Chris says, pulling his phone out.  
  
Derek nods. He lifts Peter up without much difficulty, shortly thinking that his uncle would be scandalized about being carried like this, if he was lucid enough to notice and care. Stiles follows him on the step.

They split up. Noah brings Kate to the station, Derek drives everyone else back to the Sheriff's house. The car is crowded. Allison sits beside Derek in the front, while Peter lays in the back, his head on Chris' thigh and his legs propped up on Stiles’ lap.

Just like Allison, Stiles looks like he might fall asleep every moment, but he forces his eyes open every time they threaten to fall shut, staring at Peter’s still face worried and sad.  
  
“He will be okay,” Chris eventually tells him with a weak smile. “He’s a fighter.”

That’s true. Peter survived much worse, Derek thinks and grips the steering wheel tighter. Still, this should not have happened. He feels like he should have prevented this. Now, he can only do his best to try to prevent worse.

* * *

  
Noah’s living room looks like a sick bay.

The Sheriff sits on the couch and presses a cold pack against his head. Stiles is leaning against Noah’s side, his eyes closed. Allison is curled up beside them, wrapped up in a blanket and fast asleep. Chris is in the kitchen, making tea.

Peter lays on his back on the table, still passed out and surrounded by crumpled blood soaked paper towel. Derek sits on a chair beside the table, watching Deaton, who works with his usual slow and calm movements, his face impassive, but his eyes showing how focused he is on his task.

Minutes pass in relative silence and become half an hour. Eventually, Deaton pulls his bloodied gloves off. “How is he?” Derek asks anxiously.

Deaton smiles at Derek. It’s a tired but honest smile. “Battered and completely exhausted, but I’m sure he’ll be fine after some rest and a proper meal. I managed to get the wolfsbane out of his bloodstream. The wound is clean and his healing has already kicked in. It’s much faster and stronger than it has been after he came out of the coma, that’s a good sign. It shows the strength of the pack bonds. He won’t wake up for quite a while. I gave him a little something so he can get some hours of peaceful sleep."

“Thank you,” Derek says gratefully.  
  
Deaton nods and goes over to Noah, to check on his head wound and vitals. “I think you have a mild discussion,” he announces, after holding a flashlight into Noah’s eyes. “You should get some rest too.” The Sheriff nods and immediately groans, grimacing and rubbing the back of his head.

“I figure that Kate isn’t a problem anymore?” Deaton asks, sinking down on an empty chair. 

Noah shakes her head. “She will go to prison for a long time. And even if she comes out … Well, Chris already told us how the council uses to treat rogue hunters who are code-breakers.”

Chris nods and sits on an empty chair, cupping a steaming mug of tea with both hands. “She is going to be exiled. My only concern is Gerard. When he finds out what happened to her, he might take actions.” He frowns and rubs his temples, as if the thought of Gerard alone is enough to give him a headache.  
  
Derek feels his skin crawl at the idea of Gerard Argent returning to Beacon Hills. He remembers how the old man used to watch him and the other Hales coming out of the school, doing groceries or walking through the preserve towards their house, remembers his sharp eagle-like gaze, filled with wariness and disgust following them. Gerard was only waiting for a reason to attack them. He was waiting in vain and that made him angry. As fanatic as he was, he couldn’t lead a war against a whole pack alone. Everyone knew the Hales were peaceful and had a truce with the local hunters. Derek remembers the relief when Gerard decided to leave the town.

He quickly distracts himself with disposing of the bloody paper towels and getting Peter up to their bedroom. When he lifts Peter’s limp body up, Chris shoots him a look and shifts on his seat. “Do you need help?”  
  
Derek shakes his head. “No. Get some rest. Everyone of you.”  
  
Chris nods, slumping again. Noah yawns loudly and sighs, rubbing his face. “I’m going to go to my room. Chris, you can have the couch, since Allison is already sleeping on it. Stiles …”  
  
“I’m going with Derek and Peter,” Stiles says, getting up and swaying slightly on the spot.  
  
“Alright,” Noah says without hesitance and Derek wonders once again about the man’s trust. He’s not used to so much of it.  
  
Deaton says his goodbyes and leaves the house discreetly.  
  


* * *

Stiles watches while Derek gets Peter on the bed and into a clean shirt.

The boy chews on his lower lip. “Is there anything we can do? He still feels not good. I don't like it.”

“Contact with the pack will help him to heal faster. We just need to be close to him, maybe touch him, that’s all," Derek explains.

"Okay.” Stiles immediately crawls on the bed and curls up on Peter’s right side. He puts his head on the wolf’s chest and closes his eyes.

Derek lays on Peter’s other side and takes care their shoulders are brushing. It’s subtler than what Stiles is doing, but it will suffice. He pulls the blanket over all of them and closes his eyes as well, really feeling the exhaustion creeping in now. It’s been a long day. He can feel himself dozing off in a matter of minutes.

After an unknown amount of time, Derek startles awake, because the door is creaking softly. His senses pulse on high alert. He smells the air and carefully relaxes again.

Chris comes into the room on quiet feet, a sleeping Allison in his arms. Derek watches him closely, the wolf inside him reluctant at letting a human, a _hunter_ , so close to his vulnerable packmates. On the other hand, it’s not any human. It’s Chris, who helped him find Peter and the others, who fought against Kate’s hunters with him today. Chris, who still cares about Peter.  
  
Chris sits at the edge of the bed carefully, like he isn’t sure he can stay. He looks at Derek and avoids direct eye contact, acting polite towards an Alpha like an actual wolf would. Derek makes a decision. He gives a small nod and Chris relaxes, searching for a free space on the bed and finally lays Allison on her back close to Peter’s feet. Derek’s wolf rumbles in disbelief, shocked at the fact that a hunter lays his own daughter to the wolves. Chris gets up quietly and sits in the armchair beside the bed, leaning back and closing his eyes. Derek closes his own as well. Chris and Allison add some new smells to the room. They’re not unpleasant. Derek is surprised when he catches himself feeling like the two humans could be pack as well. There’s a conversation he’s going to have to lead with Peter. But that can wait. Now, they all need to rest.  
  
Derek listens to the symphony of even breaths in the room and falls asleep soon, feeling content and safe in the midst of his pack.   
  


* * *

  
When Peter wakes up in the early morning, his mind is heavy and feels like it’s wrapped in cotton. First, he panics a bit and tenses up because he thinks he’s back in the hospital bed, trapped inside his head and unable to move, but then he inhales the smell of pack that’s all around him, and slowly, carefully relaxes. Once the panic ebbs away, he starts to understand that Deaton must have given him one of his strange herb combinations. Something sedation-like. He has seen him doing it before, with Peter's father, when a feral Wendigo injured him severely and he couldn’t sleep because of the pain.  
  
Peter feels for his shoulder where the bullet wound was. It’s healed completely and only aches a little. He’s relieved. That means that his healing is way stronger now. Maybe it means … He raises his hand to his face, the relief quickly changing into familiar disappointment, when the scars are still there. He is distracted when Stiles, who is sleeping with his head on Peter’s chest makes a noise in his sleep. The boy’s mouth is slightly open and he’s drooling on Peter’s shirt. Peter smiles at the sight. He’s glad Stiles is okay. Of course, the kid is going to have to deal with the aftermath, there’s always an aftermath, but at least, he’s not hurt.  
  
He looks to his side, where Derek lays, his face a bit tense even in his sleep. He’s carrying so much emotional baggage around with him. Seeing Kate again must have been a shock. Peter frowns a bit when he discovers Allison sleeping at the end of the bed, and her father dozing in Stiles’ armchair. He has a hand on the mattress. For a short moment, Peter feels annoyed. Does Chris think he can just stumble back into his life like this and be welcomed? But then he thinks that Chris wouldn’t be in the room if Derek didn’t approve of his presence. Chris helped. Even Allison did. He has to at least acknowledge that. Also, Chris is showing them an enormous amount of trust with putting her daughter in one bed with two werewolves. Peter sighs. He doesn’t want to think too much about this. Not right now. Not when he’s recovering from a horrible day, torture and a wolfsbane bullet in his shoulder. Not when he is surrounded by his pack for once, instead of tending to his wounds alone. He closes his eyes again, intending to allow himself to enjoy this while it still lasts.  
  


* * *

  
Chris awakes from movement around him and sunbeams falling on his face, too bright and warm. Derek is up, opening a window to let some fresh air into the room. Peter and Stiles are missing. Allison is raising her head from a crumpled pillow someone must have pushed under her at some point, blinking up at Chris, her hair ruffled. He smiles at her weakly. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey, Dad,” she answers, yawning and rubbing her eyes.  
  
Derek glances at Chris. He sniffs the air and rubs the back of his head. “The others are already downstairs, making breakfast. You can join.”  
  
Chris nods. “Thank you. We’ll be there in a moment. I need to talk to my daughter.”  
  
Derek disappears without another word, gently closing the door behind him.  
  
Chris looks at Allison and his heart clenches. She’s still so young. Too young. She shouldn’t have learned about their world like this. A burning rage joins his sadness. He can’t believe his sister, the same sister he once taught how to ride a bike, how to cook a proper meal or how to do math, would do something like that to her own niece. But then … He also didn’t think she could burn a peaceful family to the ground. He pushes the thoughts about Kate away firmly. Right now, he has to focus on his daughter. His daughter, who saw too much traumatizing things for one day.

“How are you, bee?” He asks her, calling her by the nickname for the first time in a long while.  
  
Allison looks at him and runs a hand through her hair. She shrugs. “I’m a bit sad.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I just don't understand. Why did aunt Kate do this?”  
  
Chris sighs. “I’m not sure, bee. I … Sometimes, people are convinced they’re doing the right thing, while actually doing something horrible that hurts a lot of people.”  
  
Allison hums. “Were you convinced you did the right thing when you didn’t tell me about … about the monsters?” She asks quietly.

Chris flinches. That hurts. “Yes … I’m sorry, bee.”

“It’s not really nice to keep things from each other. You said we’re not doing that. You said, I’m supposed to tell you when I have something to say, something that bothers or worries me. But you didn’t tell me anything. You kept a secret,” Allison bursts out, anxiously pulling at the sleeves of her shirt.  
  
Chris nods. His heart clenches some more and his head hurts. This is so messed up … He didn’t want to have this talk now. “I wanted to protect you, Ally. I didn’t want you to have the childhood I had. Look … I know I don’t talk about your Grandpa a lot. It’s because he made me do certain things. I found out about supernatural creatures and had to learn to fight and kill when I was much younger than you. It was scary and awful. And my father was mean to me, when he thought I didn’t do well enough. I’d never wanted such a life for you. I wanted you to have a normal life.”

Allison looks at him with wide eyes. He hopes she understands at least a little bit. A moment of silence passes, until she says quietly, “Is Kate right? Did a werewolf kill mum?”  
  
Chris swallows and nods. “Yes. It was a very confused werewolf who didn’t know how to control himself anymore. Your mother was a great hunter, but … he was too fast for her.”

Allison shifts nervously. Chris knows she barely remembers Victoria. But still, she was her mother. “Kate said they’re all monsters,” his daughter whispers.  
  
“That’s not true,” Chris says softly. “You slept in a bed with two werewolves tonight. Neither of them hurt you. They would never hurt any of us. We hunters have a code, Allison. We hunt those who hunt us. We only hunt supernatural creatures who hurt humans. Peter and Derek’s family never hurt anyone. They know how to control the wolf inside them.”

Allison frowns. “Why did Kate hurt them then?”  
  
“She didn’t care enough about the code. Our father taught us to never trust a werewolf. She couldn’t see past her hate, fear and prejudices,” Chris says sadly. "For her, every werewolf is the same."

Allison chews on her lower lip for a moment, before she says, “I didn’t like that she was hurting Peter. Stiles said he’s not a monster and I believe him. I think Peter and Derek are a bit like Professor Lupin. He’s a werewolf too, but he’s not a monster. But a lot of people are scared of him and hate him just because he is a werewolf.”

Chris smiles. “Yes. That’s a good comparison, bee.” Peter wouldn't like it though.  
  
“Will I be a hunter too?” Allison asks.

Chris sighs. “I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t want you to be a hunter. It’s a dangerous life full of loss. But … in the end, it’s your decision. I can’t keep you away from this forever. Not if you want to be part of it. I swore to never hunt again, but sometimes, we can’t stand back. I couldn’t stand back, when Kate hurt someone I care about.”

Allison looks at him attentively. “I think … I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to be a hunter,” she says honestly.

Chris smiles. He kisses the top of her head softly. “You don’t have to know. Not yet,” he murmurs.  
  
Allison nods and hugs him. “I love you, Dad,” she says into the crook of his neck and Chris returns her hug surprised. “I love you too, bee.”

* * *

The breakfast passes in comfortable silence. Everyone is still exhausted. Soon, Noah leaves to go to the station although his head still hurts. Derek goes to do the groceries. Stiles falls asleep on the couch, after watching the tv. Allison sits on the couch beside him, opening the third part of Harry Potter, without a doubt to re-read the werewolf parts, Chris muses. Peter busies himself in the kitchen, doing the dishes. Chris joins him after a moment of hesitance, grabbing a towel to dry the plates. Peter glances at him and scrunches his nose, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m glad you’re better,” Chris says after a while.

Peter purses his lips. He scrubs the next plate almost aggressively. Chris doesn’t need to be a wolf to sense the raising tension in the air. Or the anger Peter radiates. “You have every right to hate me,” he remarks quietly.

“Is that so,” Peter says cooly. “You move around so naturally, you seem to think you’re already part of my life again.”

Chris hesitates. “Maybe I hope I could be,” he says carefully.  
  
Peter narrows his eyes. “Don’t do that,” he snaps. “I’m not the boy you left behind years ago. And I'm not the man I was after I got over you. Thanks to your sister.”

“I’m not the boy I was before either. And I’m sorry I left. I really am. But … I was trying to protect you. Gerard …”

Peter scoffs. He puts the plate into the dish holder too firmly. “Of course. It’s always about Gerard, isn’t it? We could have done something. Me and my family would have protected you. But you were too scared, always too scared. You let him control your whole life.”

“You know it wasn’t that easy. You know what he’s capable of …” Chris swallows. “There wasn’t a day I didn’t regret leaving, Peter. The only good thing I have from this part of my life is Ally.”

Peter sighs. His eyes soften the tiniest bit. “Your daughter is very brave. And she didn’t let Kate manipulate her into hurting me. I admit that I like her.”

Chris grins. “She compared you to Professor Lupin.”  
  
Peter snorts. “I know that guy. He’s from the books Stiles read to me when I was in hospital. I’m not like him.”  
  
“Stiles read to you? Derek said he’s your soulmate …” Chris says, glancing over at the sleeping boy. Once again, he feels a ridiculous hint of jealousy. God. He’s not a child anymore, he should be over such things … But still, something inside him, something possessive, screams that he should be the one getting to know how Peter feels, getting to share that special connection with him. That he knows everything about soulmates, romantic and platonic ones, is only making this worse. He tells himself to get a grip.

Peter makes an agreeing noise. He looks fond now. “He is. My soulmate and anchor. He was there when no one else was. He saved me from going insane. And I saved him. We share a bond.”  
  
Chris nods curtly. “He’s remarkable. He’s magic?”  
  
“Yes. He will be very powerful once he’s learned everything about his abilities.”  
  
Chris takes another plate and dries it slowly. He tries to keep his voice as calm as possible when he asks, “Do you think I could have another chance of being part of your life?”  
  
Peter tenses. He reaches for a glass and grits his teeth. “I don’t know.”

Chris nods. He’s not surprised. But an I don’t know is better than a straight no. “I still love you,” he says. It’s the truth. He can feel it in his chest, warm and longing.

Peter looks at him, tilting his head and Chris realizes he’s listening to his heartbeat. Which, he knows, isn’t faltering. Peter sighs. “You loved the past me,” he says, looking away. “I’m different now. I’m damaged. And I don't only mean the scars that refuse to vanish. On some days, I feel like I’m one step away from going on a killing spree. On other days, I just want to sleep in peace and never wake up again. I’m a mess, Christopher.” He sounds almost desperate now, and Chris realizes it must be hard for him, to open up so much.  
  
After a moment of hesitance, he reaches out and lays his hand on Peter’s shoulder. The wolf flinches the tiniest bit, but he doesn’t try to move away. “I’m a mess too,” Chris says. “We could be a mess together.”

Peter bites his lip and then does move away, drying his hands on a towel and shaking his head. “I don’t know. I can’t decide. Not now.”  
  
Chris nods. It hurts, but he shouldn’t be surprised. “Okay.”

“Thank you for helping yesterday,” Peter tells him. “We really appreciate it. And since Derek accepted you, you’re always welcome, no matter how things are between us.” He sounds too formal. It makes Chris’ chest ache.  
  
“Okay,” he says again.  
  
Peter nods and turns around, walking towards the stairs. Chris looks after him, a lump forming in his throat. He sighs and goes to join Stiles and Allison on the couch. “Shall I read to you?” His daughter asks him brightly, and Chris smiles at her. “Please do.” He looks up at the ceiling and listens to Allison’s voice, letting it carry away his troublesome thoughts.


	11. Chapter 11

Things are good for a long time.  
  
Better than they have ever been since the fire, actually. 

It’s both nice and terrifying, because Derek has the dire feeling something is going to happen and destroy the new life he’s slowly adjusting to. He tries not to have that feeling too often, because he doesn’t want to poison his own happiness. He wants to try to enjoy it.  
  
Not poisoning his happiness is an advise that comes from the therapist he’s visiting now, following Peter’s advise and encouraging. The first few sessions were so awful and painful, he considered not going there anymore. But Peter said it would be like this, so he pulled through. Talking about Kate was one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Talking about how she used his grief after what happened to Paige to get close to him, how she told him all the things she never meant but he swallowed up greedily, how she touched him and he touched her, how she told him there shouldn’t be any secrets between them and how he told her everything she needed to destroy his family.  
  
He talks about how guilty he still feels. Every time he looks at Peter, every time he sees the scars, it feels like being punched in the guts. It’s hard to tell himself that he’s also a victim and deserves comfort, but with the therapist’s help, the message slowly starts to cut through the wall of self-hatred and regret he built around himself. 

It’s not easy. It doesn’t get any easier with the time. He cries for the first time in ages and hates himself. He tears his own mental walls apart and sets them together again. Multiple times. It hurts and he hates it. 

But when he comes home now, there are people who care how he feels and who know what he needs. It starts to feel like family. And although the Alpha instincts urge Derek to find some more betas to strengthen his pack, he feels reluctant about it. He feels like his pack is already stable enough, even without more werewolves. And the pack bonds get more pronounced with every day they all spend together. 

When the holidays are over, Derek starts to drive Stiles to school, since Peter is not always comfortable with leaving the house. He enjoys the drives, Stiles’ constant rambling and the warmth he feels in his chest because the Sheriff trusts him with this task.

On the weekends, they often do things together. The take long walks through the lonely forest, telling Noah and Stiles everything about werewolves and the supernatural in general. Once, they even visit the zoo. Stiles has a laughing fit when the wolves there start to growl and bark at them because of Derek and Peter, who reluctantly agreed to accompany them but keeps his head low to hide the scars.  
  
But Derek’s favourite thing are the nights. When they all end up in bed together, warm and comfortable, with Stiles in the middle or draped all over them. Noah once offers to put a second bed into the room, after he finds them in the morning with Derek half on the floor, but he quickly understands, that the closeness is exactly what the wolves enjoy. Sometimes, he even joins them, though he sleeps in the armchair or on an extra mattress, not on the bed with them.  
  
Yes. Things are pretty great right now. Kate is locked away securely. Of course, there's going to be a trial and Derek guesses they are all supposed to testify, but he's going to worry about that later, when it's time for this.  
  
Stiles is still working hard on his magic together with Jennifer. It’s astonishing how well he is controlling his energy by now. When they are alone, he amuses himself by magically moving things around until Noah exasperatedly tells him to stop. Stiles then laughs and plans his next magical prank, usually plotting it together with Peter, what makes Derek nervous, because if there’s a prize in plotting, Peter would win it every year. Still, it makes him happy whenever he sees Stiles and his uncle together somewhere. He knows their bond is strong and keeps the wolf inside Peter serene, even when Peter is having one of his nightmares or flashbacks. They get rarer gradually. Stiles only needs to touch him to calm him down.

Winter turns into spring and, finally, into summer. 

They start to have regular barbecue afternoons. 

Derek really enjoys these afternoons. The pack is together and bonding. Usually, Chris comes over with Allison to join them. Her and Stiles get along incredibly well after the incident with Kate. They sit on the swings in the garden and talk to each other, while the grown ups prepare everything. Peter keeps his distance from the fire, usually staying in the kitchen until the flames died down. Derek has no issues with being close to an open fire and doesn’t mind broiling the meat, but he knows it’s different for Peter. On some days the heat and smell would be enough to cause a flashback. Everyone knows that and no one tries to convince Peter to approach the barbecue. But he does it on his own, to Derek’s surprise. With every time they have one of the barbecue afternoons, Peter comes closer, until he’s sitting a few metres away from the fire, watching it closely, but not panicking. Sometimes, he relaxes enough to be able to keep Stiles and Allison entertained, telling them stories or helping them with their homework. 

Derek doesn’t miss the glances Chris sends into Peter’s direction. Neither does he miss the looks Peter sends back, when he thinks Chris isn’t watching. He can feel the air between them filling with a hint of longing mixed with sharp regret, and quickly closes his nose, because he’s sure he isn’t supposed to smell this. Still, he starts to hope they are going to talk to each other eventually, because the tension between them is unnerving.

On a hot Saturday, Derek is at the grocery store with Stiles, getting everything they need for their barbecue next day. 

Stiles is energetic as usual, running off to get things and putting them into their shopping bag. Derek has the feeling the kid is kind of exploiting the fact, that he’s at the store with Derek instead of his Dad or Peter, because he keeps sneaking sweets and Doritos into the bag, until Derek can’t ignore it anymore and tells him to put the sixth pack of gummy bears back from where he got it. Stiles throws him his famous puppy eyes and Derek almost succumbs to them, but he glares and tells Stiles, “Now.” The boy pouts but puts the pack back and Derek feels good about it. It’s been long since he had to deal with children. A sharp pain tugs at his chest when he remembers who he went to the store with before the fire and he quickly focuses on the bottles of sparkly water in front of him instead, trying to find Peter’s ridiculously expensive brand - seriously, it’s just water - chewing on his lower lip while Stiles bounces on his heels and glances longingly at the ice cream. 

Derek already expects the boy to ask for some and he won’t say no to that, he can’t, but suddenly, Stiles freezes and reaches for his chest, grimacing. “We have to go back,” he says, his voice loud and clear.   
  
Derek frowns. “What? Why?” 

Stiles tilts his head as if he's listening, nervously rubbing his right arm. “Something’s happening at home. Peter’s wolf is … Oh. He’s furious.” He shudders, and the water bottles start to wobble. 

“Stiles,” Derek murmurs, looking around and hoping no one is seeing this. “You have to stop.”  
  
Stiles grits his teeth. “Sorry.” He closes his eyes and takes some deep breaths, his brows furrowing in his concentration. The bottles stop wobbling. Stiles pulls at Derek’s shirt urgently. “We have to go.”  
  
“Okay. Alright. Come on, let’s pay and then we’ll drive home immediately,” Derek says. Unfortunately, the queue is quite long and Derek waits nervously, while Stiles is making impatient noises beside him, until people glance at them and shake their heads. Derek sighs. He hopes that whatever is going on at home, it isn’t something that’s going to destroy everything they have built in the last few months.  
  


* * *

It isn’t.  
  
When Derek and Stiles get out of the car hurriedly, the scenario they are faced with in the Stilinski’s backyard is something that makes Derek sigh both in careful relief and slight wonder. Stiles only frowns in confusion.

“Thank God. You’re back,” Noah murmurs, from where he’s standing behind Peter, his eyes wide and his stance unsure. "We have kind of a situation here," he adds, his words barely audible over Peter’s constant growling. Peter is completely shifted, eyes gleaming in supernatural blue, his fangs bared and his claws out. He’s shielding the Sheriff from two strangers that are standing a few metres away, close together. Their bodies are tense and they smell of uncertainty. They are young. Almost teenagers. And they look exactly alike. Twins. It takes Derek one sniff to know that they are wolves. Two strange wolves on their territory. No wonder Peter is on the edge of lunging at them.  
  
But it’s a problem that his uncle and left hand is defending his pack against two other werewolves in broad daylight. They have to stop this.  
  
Derek takes a few steps forward and clears his throat, flashing his eyes red. The twins look from Peter to him and the nervousness they’re radiating intensifies. “Alpha,” one of them says, looking down to show his respect. The other one doesn’t look down. He stares at Derek and actually takes a few steps towards him. He falters when Peter’s growl gets louder and sighs. “Listen. We don’t want any trouble. My name’s Ethan, this is Aiden. We heard there’s a new Alpha in Beacon Hills, a Hale, and we’re here to ask to be accepted into your pack.” 

“Our old pack is dead,” Aiden chimes in, his eyes still down. “We barely escaped. We have been on the run ever since.”  
  
Peter stops growling at that and Derek sees with relief, that he’s pulling his wolf back slowly. “Who killed your pack?” Peter asks, his eyes narrowing.  
  
“Gerard Argent,” Ethan says with a snarl and Derek momentarily closes his eyes. Of course. Stiles makes a startled noise. “Isn’t that the man Christopher talked about?” He asks, almost whispering. “The one who doesn’t care about the code? Like Kate?” Derek nods curtly. 

Peter looks like he’s going to wolf out again, but he takes a few deep breaths and seems to calm down. “You’re the only two who survived?”  
  
Aiden looks at Ethan and they seem to talk to each other silently, before he says, “There’s someone else. She’s hurt, so we told her to hide until we spoke to the Alpha. That was a good decision, apparently,” he adds with a glance at Peter who just glares back and shows some teeth.  
  
“Where is she now?” Derek asks.  
  
“She’s here,” a quiet but firm voice says. A girl with long dark hair stumbles out between the bushes, holding her arm at an awkward angle. Peter looks at her, sniffs and freezes. Derek feels like the air is punched out of his throat. He stumbles one step back in his shock and surprise. Oh God. Can it be? Can it really be that this girl is …

“Cora?” Peter asks, his voice breaking on the last syllable. 

The girl sobs and starts to run. She hugs Peter who wraps his arms around her and presses her close, nuzzling her neck and cheek. 

Stiles and Noah, as well as the twins watch with wide eyes. “I had no idea she was a Hale,” Aiden says numbly. “She must have kept it a secret, in case someone was after her.” 

“Who is she?” Stiles asks Derek quietly, watching the scene in front of them with wide eyes. 

“My little sister,” Derek breathes, swaying on the spot. “It’s my little sister. Cora.” Finally, the shock ebbs and makes place to a joy so strong, it seems to overwhelm him. He joins Peter and Cora’s hug, the shadow of Gerard disappearing behind the bliss of having his little sister back.  
  


* * *

The Sheriff’s home just got a whole lot more crowded. 

The twins and Cora eat like they’re starving and tell their story in between. Derek can’t stop staring at his sister, whose arm is now bandaged. They called Deaton and he came over to treat her wound. Thankfully, it was only a graze, but she still had wolfsbane in the wound and he had to close it. Derek glances at Peter who is staring at Cora as well, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

Turns out Aiden, Ethan and Cora have travelled to Beacon Hills through three big cities and various villages, in search for an Alpha who would take them in. They didn’t have any luck and escaped a few hunter traps on their way. Finally, they heard rumours about the Hale pack rebuilding in Beacon Hills and Cora begged the twins to go there, of course, because she hoped to meet survivors of the fire. 

“I’m so glad to see you, you can’t believe how much,” she whispers, when she’s laying on the bed in Peter and Derek’s room, clearly exhausted but happy. “I thought … I went to the house after it burned and some hunters saw me. They went after me but I escaped and after that … I don’t know. It’s all a blur. I ran so much, uncle Peter. I ran far away. I ran away from it all.” She starts to cry and Peter hushes her, rubbing his cheek against hers soothingly. “You’re safe now,” he says and Derek nods. He looks at the twins who are standing in the middle of the room, looking exhausted but also hesitant, and says, “You’re all safe here.” Aiden and Ethan relax visibly. 

“So,” the Sheriff says, from where he’s standing in the door, Stiles peeking in behind him, “How are we going to do this? I can take the couch for the night, then you two,” he nods at the twins, “Can have my bedroom, and …”

“No,” Peter interrupts, “I’m going to take the couch. It’s closest to the door. The twins still take your bedroom, Derek sleeps here with Cora and Stiles either goes to his room with you or stays with me.” 

The Sheriff frowns. “Do I have to worry?” 

Derek shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Peter is just following his instincts.” But he shares a look with his uncle and knows they have to brace for a possible attack in the near future. Also they do need another place for the pack, since the house isn’t even the Sheriff’s own. The aunt is going to come back eventually and now they are too many. They need a proper pack house. But Derek decides to care about these things later. For now, he’s just happy to lay beside Cora, to touch and scent her as much as he can. His little sister … He can’t believe she’s really here. A part of his old family settling into his new one. A true miracle … It’s kind of ironic, that something so horrible like Gerard trying to wipe out another pack gave him this miracle, he muses while falling asleep. 

* * *

Peter is overwhelmed.  
  
This realization really hits him when he’s sitting on the couch in his therapist’s office, staring at the lazily moving fish in the aquarium and not able to utter a single coherent thought. Like always, his therapist is just bearing the silence, watching him with her hands folded in her lap. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he eventually admits after what seems like ages. 

“It seems like a lot is going on right now,” his therapist says. 

Peter has to smile at that. “You have no idea.” 

“What is the thing that you think about the most?” 

Peter takes a deep breath. “Cora, one of my nieces came home days ago. She wasn’t in the house when it burnt. I didn’t even know. I didn't know she was alive all this time. She returned. She’s fine. And I should be happy about it, I _am_ happy, but … I also feel restless. There are so many people I care about now. Not so long ago, there was no one. It … worries me.”  
  
“What exactly worries you about having many people you care about?” 

“Something could happen to them. Someone could hurt them. I could lose them. I could lose everyone. Again. And … I wouldn’t be able to live with that. Not again.” The thought alone makes him feel sick. And arises so many questions … Why does everything have to be so difficult? Why do there have to be people who think it’s justified to kill werewolves just because they’re werewolves? Why can they not just accept there are people who are different and let them live in peace if they don’t cause any trouble?  
  
He talks a bit more about the fear to lose his new family like the old one, because here is the only place he can do this. He doesn’t want anyone else to worry, doesn’t want them to think they have to reassure him or anything. He has always had troubles of dealing with people thinking he’s fragile or weak. Mainly, because his role as left hand has been imprinted on him in such a young age, he doesn’t know anything else. He can’t allow himself to appear weak.  
  
After the session, Peter feels drained. He hurries outside, keeping his head down as usual, to avoid stares because of the scars. When he exits the building, he is met with the usual mess of smells. People, food, exhaust fumes. Before he closes his nose against the assault, he catches one scent, that makes him falter in his steps. He looks up and sees Chris Argent, leaning against his car, his arms crossed. When he notices Peter approaching, the corners of his lips tilt up. Peter fights a rush of fury down. “Did you follow me?” He snaps. 

Chris shifts his weight. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I talked to Derek when he picked Stiles up from school today, and he told me about Cora. Told me about the pack that was killed.”  
  
Peter scowls. “Great, right? Another Argent killing my kind and enjoying it.” He knows he's being quite unfair, since Chris helped them and could now be caught in the crossfire together with them. Still. He can't help himself.  
  
Chris sighs. “Trust me, I want to stop him as much as you do.” He looks towards the building Peter came out of with a weak smile. “I went to some therapy sessions too, you know? I tried to work through my many issues. The relationship to my abusive and manipulative father or the impulse control problems … I know it’s tough to open up and talk about what you hate most about yourself or the world you’re living in.” 

Peter scoffs. “Are you trying to tell me we’re not that different, Christopher? Because then, I'd beg to differ.” 

“I’m telling you that you don’t have to play-act with me. I know you’re doing it constantly, like you did back then,” Chris says and a shadow of regret flicks over his eyes. “Why don’t we stop pretending that there is nothing left between us? Why can’t we just be open with each other like we were in the past?”

Peter grits his teeth. “Because you left,” he says. “Because only looking at you hurts. You have no idea, how it feels like to think you found your mate, only to lose him and then have him returning years later.” He stops, a bit surprised this just came out of his mouth. Surprised and startled. It’s too much. He feels a first rush of panic and the urge to run. And maybe, Chris senses it, because he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Peter’s wrist. “Then tell me. Tell me how it feels, give me a chance to prove I’m sorry and that I mean everything I say serious. Please.”  
  
Peter looks at the hand holding on to him and can’t help but remembering the feeling of being in love. Of feeling safe and wanted. He sighs, already knowing he won’t be able to fight that off any longer. “Where ... ,” he mutters and Chris exhales heavily, as if he has been holding his breath the whole time. “Where do you want to talk. Not here. Or in any restaurant. I … I can’t deal with the stares.”  
  
Chris nods. He takes his hand away and runs it through his hair. “I thought … Maybe we could go to the clearing?” 

The clearing. Of course. The perfect place for this.  
  
“Alright,” Peter says, and when Chris opens the car door for him, he gets in.


	12. Chapter 12

There was a time, when Chris was proud about being an Argent. There was a time, when all he wanted, was to satisfy his father. He tried so hard, only to never get what he wanted. He tried so hard, and in the end, it didn’t matter.  
  
Because in the end, the so called monsters he learned to hate and hunt, were more human than his own family.

When he left Beacon Hills, he was convinced it was the right thing to do. He was resigned and scared. He knew what his father was capable of doing, should he find out about him and Peter. It was only a matter of time and Chris couldn’t stand the risk, the thought of Peter and his family being hurt because of him.

He met them. Met the Hales and got to see how they lived their life. It was so profoundly different from what his father had taught him about werewolves. They were so … normal. And nice. He got a warm welcome although he was the son of a known werewolf hater. Talia invited him to dinner and Chris ended up with three little excited girls surrounding him after, asking him to braid their hair or to help them with their homework. Peter saved him by showing him his room. It was also so very normal. It didn’t look that different from Chris’ own room, apart from the heaps of books on the floor, because there wasn’t enough space on the shelves.

They sat on the bed and Peter started to tell him everything about the dynamics in the pack. When he mentioned who was human, Chris had to keep his jaw from dropping. “Wait. There are humans in your pack?”  
  
Peter frowned. “Of course. Happens in every pack. There are a lot of werewolves who brag about clean bloodlines, but you can’t control it. There’s a human born like, I don’t know, every few years. My youngest niece Lou is human, just like my own uncle Anthony. It’s normal.”

Gerard never mentioned that. Huh. “But … They’re going to be turned eventually, right?” Chris asked.

Peter chuckled and shook his head. “Oh my, your father really told you all the good stories, right, but only the myths. No. They can stay human. If they want to, they stay human for their whole life. The Bite is a gift. No one is forced to accept it. If a human pack member requests it, there are lots of tedious discussions, about whether they’re going to survive it or not. If the Alpha, now Talia, has any serious reasons to be concerned, she’s not going to give them the Bite. If they get it, there’s a huge celebration and the whole pack stays with the new wolf, waiting for the first shift. There’s usually some pain first, so everyone is taking care of the bitten one, providing them with good food and taking their pain.”

Chris was fascinated. He listened to everything else Peter told him eagerly. There were so many rules … Rules for everything. Especially for full moons. Peter explained that every wolf got a mentor for their first full moon. Someone, who would watch out they didn’t hurt themselves or anyone. Someone, who guided them through the night, teaching them how to control the shift, the moon sickness and the wolf that was more pronounced and wanted to hunt. Peter did this for Derek and now prepared to help Derek’s sister Cora as well.

“We take care there’s no one hurt. The only problem,” Peter said, “Are rough Omegas who have too much innocent blood on their hands and were exiled by their former pack, or single Alphas, who are in search of a pack. Sometimes, the loneliness drove them insane and they would be a danger to humans because they just want pack, their instinct tells them to build one, so they would bite anyone who comes their way. They have to be taken care of. That’s the task of a left hand. They are going to assess the risk and decide what to do about the threat. That’s going to be my job one day.”

Chris understood that the Hales weren’t the problem. They were keeping the territory balanced and clean.

But Gerard wouldn’t have listened to these things. He was too blinded by his hate. Chris kept what he learned mostly to himself. He started to feel more at home when he was with Peter and his family, than he felt at his actual house, with Gerard and Kate. After school, he helped Derek and the others with their homework, he had barbecues with the wolves and spent a full moon with Peter, just to see if he was any different when the moon was full at the sky. Most of the Hales stayed awake the whole night and Chris didn’t notice much change, apart from Peter being more restless than usual. He wanted to hunt and Chris soon lost him in the forest, his jaw dropping when he found Peter standing over a dead deer with a proud toothy grin, blood on his claws and clothes.  
  
It didn’t put Chris off. If anything, he fell in love more.

Soon, with everything he slowly learned, he started to realize that Peter’s family accepted him so fast, because his scent was on Peter and they saw him as Peter’s mate. Chris didn’t mind to be that. But he noticed that Gerard got more suspicious, with every day or night Chris spent away from home. He found a lot of excuses. He wanted to track something alone, to prove himself. He wanted to see if something was a threat before alarming Gerard. He didn’t want to admit he had a bad mark … It went on and on.

Gerard was too smart to be lied to for too long. Chris was scared he would find out, but one day, his father got a call. A group of hunters asked for his help. In a city far from Beacon Hills. And Gerard decided to go. After all, the Hales didn’t give him enough reason to attack them, to his great anger and disappointment.  
  
A part of Chris was relieved. Another was heartbroken. Peter and his family would be safe, he thought. But … He would lose Peter. Peter would lose him. He knew it would hurt. It would hurt Peter more, but … it was for the better. His chest ached when he left the note on the clearing they talked to each other for the last time. Where Peter told him to stay. Told him his family would protect Chris. He laid the note under a stone and looked down at it for a long moment, at the crooked letters. _I’m sorry.  
_

I’m so sorry. He sighed and turned around.  
  


It was a mistake. Years later, when the Hale house burned, Chris asked himself, if it would have changed anything if he’d stayed.

It was too late. The damage was done. And Chris wondered if Peter thought he knew about it. If he thought Chris approved of it. That hurt more than anything else. But well. He would understand … After all, Peter told him so much about his family. It would make sense for Peter to suspect Chris.  
  
There wasn’t a day Chris regretted his life choices. And after Vic died, when his little Allison grew up, when Gerard made a comment about what a wonderful matriarch and hunter she would be one day, he finally snapped.  
  
“Never,” he told his father, slamming the door into his surprised and angry face. _Never._

Allison watched him with wide eyes while he was packing their bags.

This was something he should have done long ago, Chris thought. He left his father and his old life behind and took Allison to find a new one. 

  
And now, he found Peter.  
  


Chris did count with anger and resentment. He knew he didn’t deserve Peter’s forgiveness.

He didn’t count with Peter telling him his own sister set the fire back then. It was a shock. It hurt like hell. Later, when he sat at the table, his face hidden in his hands, he could see it. He could see Kate doing it. God. 

He would have never thought she would be able to kidnap her own niece, but she did. She was crazy. Crippled by the hate her father had burned into her for so long. Beyond redemption, Chris thought. 

He still went to talk to his her, after she was arrested. One time. Maybe, because a part of him hoped, to see something in her eyes that told him the girl he once held in his arms and taught how to ride a bike was still in there.   
  


Of course the visit only hurt him.   
  


They were separated by a glass window. Kate stared at him with open fury. “You put your own family behind bars, your own flesh and blood. I hope you’re happy now,” she spat. “But don’t you worry. I’m getting out soon enough.” She smirked. 

Chris sighed. “There’s enough to sent you to prison for many years, Kate. A few of your hunters are ready to testify against you, since they’re scared of being exiled by the council. One of them gave us a list with people who helped you. It’s not looking good. And you know exactly, what happens to codebreakers. Everyone knows what you did now, Kate. The great matriarch already sent a message to Peter and Derek, apologizing and offering them compensation. Not that any amount of money could compensate for what they have lost and been through.” 

Kate’s smirk faltered a bit, but she quickly gathered herself. “You should hear yourself. For what they lost and been through?! These freaks shouldn’t have been born in the first place. For all I know, I did the world a favour.” 

Chris gritted his teeth. “Isn’t there at least a part of you that feels remorseful about what you did?” 

Kate raised her chin. “No.” 

Chris shook his head in disbelief. “Children, Kate. There were children in that house. They choked on the smoke and burned in front of Peter’s eyes. I can’t even imagine the horrors he endured in this basement. They were a family. Just like us. They went to school, they did their homework in the afternoon before they played video games or read books, they had their dreams and future plans. How could you …” 

“I did what I was trained for. There might have been humans, but they were already lost. They would have continued what their Alpha started.”  
  
“They were peaceful, Kate. They didn’t start anything …”

“Oh, really? You know about the bodies they had buried in their backyard. The bodies your precious Peter put there.” 

“You know damn well that it was his task to protect the pack and the territory. These bodies were put there for a reason. They weren’t human …” 

Kate sneered. “You’re already rolling around with him again, aren’t you. Playing bitch in heat."

The anger was cold and violent. “Shut up, Kate,” Chris hissed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He prepared to get up, tired of this conversation that led to nothing but pain and more heartbreak.  
  
“You’re betraying your own family,” Kate said. “But you’re going to regret it. You’ll see. You can’t trust a wolf.”  
  
Chris looked at her sadly. “Family doesn’t end with blood, Kate. I don’t have to love you or my father. You don’t have to be part of my life. I get to choose.” He stood up. 

Kate scoffed. “Yes, go. Go back to these vermins that now are your family apparently. Go back and be one of them. Why don’t you let Derek bite you, then you can really be with your precious wolves, howling at the moon …” 

“They’re more human than you could ever be.” Chris said, turned around and left. He never looked back.

He has to look forward. He looks at the clearing, that still looks the same. The same high fir trees throw shadows into the grass. Nearby, the same little stream flows, the water sparkling silver in the sunlight.

“I found your note here. Under a stone,” Peter tells him, standing with his back to Chris. 

“I’m sorry,” Chris says, echoing the exact same words that were on the note. 

“You say that a lot lately,” Peter says bitterly. 

“Because it’s what I’m feeling a lot. Like I said. There’s not a day passing I don’t feel regret about what happened. I shouldn't have left. I hurt you and it was the last thing I wanted to do,” he says.  
  
Peter turns around, glaring at him. “I would have kept you safe. My family would have protected you, because you belonged to me.”  
  
“I know,” Chris says quietly. “But I was an idiot. I was scared of my father, just like you said. I was scared to admit that back then. I’m not scared anymore now. I was scared what my father would do if he found out. He was … He was unpredictable. One moment, he smiled at me, the other one, he suddenly hit me across the face. I was scared.” 

Peter’s gaze softens a bit. He sighs. “And now, we’re here again years later, and your father is still our problem. Isn’t it ironic.” 

“This time though, I know exactly on which side I’m standing,” Chris says firmly. “This time, I’m not scared. I won’t let him hurt the people I love. Won’t let him hurt you.”  
  
“You still love me?” Peter asks. “Do you really?” 

Chris nods. “Yes. I do. I never stopped.”

Peter laughs shortly. “I never stopped either. Oh, I wanted to. When it felt like you ripped my heart out, I wanted to forget you. I wanted to move on. But … I couldn’t. Somehow, I always wanted to wait for you. Even when these stupid werewolves started to court me. One of them even was an Alpha. Deucalion. Talia almost exploded when I threw his gift right back at him and told him to fuck off.” Peter chuckles. 

Chris grins. He can almost see Talia's shocked face in front of his eyes. “I don’t really have a courting gift,” he says, shrugging. “Sorry. But, I can make you dinner?”

Peter smiles. It makes his eyes sparkle blue in the sunlight. “Ah. Providing food is as much of a courting gift as a bracelet or money.” 

“Do you accept it then?” Chris asks. 

“Yes,” Peter says, now serious. “I accept your gift.”  
  
They return to Chris’ house and dinner satisfies them both. When they sit on the couch, close enough that their shoulders brush, Peter turns his head and leans his forehead against Chris’ temple softly. It’s a start, Chris thinks. It’s more than he deserves.  
  


* * *

Peter didn’t come back from his therapy session and Derek is a bit on the edge. Stiles tells him not to worry and that Peter’s wolf feels completely normal. Happy even. Stiles being able to tell if Peter’s okay by their soulmate bond is still something Derek has to get used to. He’s relieved when he finally receives a text message from Peter.  
  
 _I’m with Chris. Going to return in an hour._

 _About time_ , Derek thinks and puts his phone away with a sigh. Finally, they’re talking. 

Stiles, the Sheriff and Allison play some card game at the kitchen table. Apparently, Stiles tried to cheat, because his father scolds him and Stiles is trying to pout while at the same time withholding a mischievous grin. Allison looks like she’s having a lot of fun. She didn’t ask for her father at least. 

Seeing that everything is fine, Derek decides to take a walk with Aiden and Ethan, to show them the preserve, as well as to check for any threats. Normally, Peter would do that, but Derek can do it too. He learned everything from his uncle anyway. He has to prove he’s a capable Alpha, able to take care of his pack and to provide balance. 

The evening is calm and mild. The crickets are loud. Somewhere, a coyote calls out. They move through the forest slowly, in comfortable silence. It feels good, to be with pack. But then, Derek smells something, that shouldn’t be here. Gun oil. Wolfsbane. There’s movement in front of them. He freezes and pulls the two younger werewolves into the shadows behind him. 

In front of them is a clearing, and on it are hunters. A lot of hunters. Almost two dozens. The wind is blowing in the wrong direction, carrying their scent away. That’s why the wolves noticed them so late. Derek hasn’t seen so many hunters on one place ever before. He discovers Gerard Argent in the middle and has to keep himself from growling in disgust. The old man looks very smug. That’s never a good sign. 

The hunters are standing in a circle around a tree. There’s a man bound to it firmly, with rope soaked in wolfsbane. A wolf, Derek knows instinctively. And when the man’s eyes flash blue in panic, he knows it’s an Omega. One of the hunters pulls out a baton and holds it to the wolf’s side. The Omega starts to jerk and the hunters laugh. 

Ethan growls under his breath and makes a movement as if he’s going to lunge at them. Derek reaches out and grabs the younger werewolf’s arm. “We can’t help him. There are too many of them,” he hisses. 

Ethan scowls, but he sinks back into the shadows, his eyes wide. Aiden is chewing on his lip, his angry gaze glued to Gerard who says something quiet to the Omega they can’t hear. 

Derek freezes when Gerard pulls out a broad sword. The old man doesn’t even hesitate. He cuts the Omega into two parts with one movement. One of the hunters hisses something about the code, but Gerard only laughs. The majority of the hunters look at him with sympathy. Derek’s throat starts to feel tight. 

“What are they doing?” Aiden hisses, his eyes filled with disbelief. 

“They’re declaring war,” Derek growls.   
  


* * *

  
“What are we going to do?” Stiles asks nervously. 

The pack gathers in Noah’s living room. Stiles and Allison are sitting close together on the couch. The Sheriff is sitting at the table with Derek. Aiden and Ethan are pacing restlessly, their arms crossed. Peter and Chris are standing behind the couch. Cora is stil upstairs, resting and recovering. 

Peter feels angry and agitated. He can’t believe there’s another Argent about to finish what Kate tried to start. Another Argent they have to fight off to be able to live a halfway peaceful life. He hates this so much. He finally wants things to settle down so he as time to catch up with Chris and his life in general. He has missed six years. He should be allowed to finally enjoy things again. 

But as much as he hates it, this situation needs to be taken care of first ...

“We will need our own army,” he says with a heavy sigh, looking at Derek who nods. 

Stiles’ eyes widen. “An army of werewolves? Where do we find such an army?” 

“We have to talk to Alphas of other packs,” Peter explains. “Packs which are threatened by Gerard and his hunters as well.” 

“And there are such packs around here?” The Sheriff asks with some doubt in his voice. Obviously, he can’t imagine there are much werewolves here. Of course, he didn’t even know about the supernatural not that long ago. 

“There are at least two more packs,” Derek says. “Deucalion’s pack and Satomi Ito's. Satomi is a very old and wise werewolf. She’s one of the oldest. She would be a powerful ally.” 

Peter feels Chris shifting his weight when Deucalion is mentioned and inwardly rolls his eyes. Well. This is going to be awkward. He wonders if Deucalion is still mad. 

“Okay, and how do we do this? Do you just, uh, call them?” Noah asks, frowning. 

“We’re going to visit them in their territory. This is a very delicate matter. Werewolves don’t just invade other territories, it’s considered offensive and normally looks like a declaration of war. Therefore, we’re not going to bring the whole pack. Traditionally, only the Alpha, his left and right hand as well as the emissary are going,” Peter explains. “That would be Derek, me and Deaton. But,” he adds, looking at Derek intently, “Chris should come too.” 

Derek does look a bit surprised at that. But then, he nods. “Of course. It makes sense.” Chris knows Gerard better than anyone else. “They’re not going to like it though,” Derek warns. Especially Deucalion is what he doesn't say out loud, but lingers between them. 

Peter shrugs. “We’ll explain it to them. Deucalion always listens before acting. I have more concerns about his left hand. And we both know Satomi is not the one to just attack before listening either.” 

Stiles pouts. “I want to come too.”  
  
Peter looks at him. He would love to have Stiles with him. It always makes his wolf calmer to have Stiles around. He loves the boy, but he knows they shouldn’t reveal Stiles just yet. For various reasons. “You’re going to protect the rest of the pack for me, Stiles,” he tells the boy and Stiles first pouts some more, but then sighs and nods. “Alright.”  
  
Derek looks at Peter. “Who are we going to visit first?”  
  
“The one with the most vicious pack,” Peter says. “Deucalion.”


	13. Chapter 13

Invading a foreign werewolf territory feels wrong. It makes Peter’s wolf restless. It’s getting hard to focus. He tries anyway, following Derek, who looks like he feels the same. As humans, Deaton and Chris are not affected at all. But they are also more vulnerable, since they are not able to smell the strange wolves. Peter tries to have his eyes almost everywhere, just in case they are attacked. He hasn’t seen Deucalion or anyone of his pack in ages, who knows if he even is still the Alpha. 

The trail leads them in a quite remote area, with abandoned barns and thin pathways. It makes sense the pack moved from the town, Peter thinks bitterly. After the fire, he would have done the same. Surely, every werewolf was scared they could suffer the same fate as the Hales did. Kate’s massacre was a never before seen thing, certainly leading to fear and mistrust. 

“So, what kind of Alpha is Deucalion?” Chris asks. 

Peter is glad for the distraction and the opportunity to talk. “Deucalion is a lot like Talia was. Or at least, that’s how I met him. He doesn’t tolerate unnecessary violence or innocents being hurt. Deucalion was the one who suggested regular meetings of the local packs. He wanted them to be more like the hunters who have their council, their code and rules. He also was the driving force behind the truce with the hunters, which Talia and Satomi supported. But at one gathering, Deucalion had a pretty ugly conflict with another Alpha, who wanted to throw all the treaties and rules away. Ennis voted for anarchy. He said werewolves should be the ruling class. He wasn’t the first one and certainly not the last one thinking like that. Later, he tried to take Deucalion’s power and pack. It was a ugly fight and Deucalion lost an eye in it. Ennis almost succeeded, but Deucalion’s left hand literally tore him apart.” Peter smiles slightly in remembrance. “She was a force to be reckoned with …”

“She still is.” 

Everyone freezes at the sharp voice cutting through the air. It comes from a woman who is sitting on the thick branch of an appletree, nearby, looking down at them with her eyes glowing blue and her fangs out. Her nostrils flare as she takes in their scent.

Peter smirks up at her. “Kali. Long time no see.” 

Deucalion’s left hand doesn’t answer. She jumps and lands on both bare feet gracefully. She rounds them, her claws out and as long as Peter remembers them. Unlike any other werewolf, Kali also has the claws out on her feet, using them in a fight. “It’s certainly been long since I saw Hales on this land,” she eventually says, throwing her long dark hair back. She looks at Derek, who flashes his eyes red automatically. After a moment, Kali lowers her gaze as a small sign of respect. It’s something. It makes Peter relax a bit more. He’s quite sure now, that there’s no surprise attack happening. “What are you doing here?” She asks, fixating the humans now. She frowns at Chris. “With two humans? I know your emissary, Deaton. But the other one …”  
  
“We were hoping to talk to Deucalion,” Peter quickly says, to direct the talk elsewhere. “About Gerard Argent.”  
  
Kali flinches and scowls. “Ah. That old bastard. We heard about his attack on that other pack, disgusting.”  
  
“Well. He’s here now. Ready to continue what his precious daughter started.”  
  
Kali scowls some more. Her eyes flicker to Peter’s scars and back to Derek. Peter is surprised when he smells the hint of sympathy coming from her. “Follow me,” she says curtly, turning on her heels. 

* * *

Deucalion sits on a rock beside a little farmhouse. He doesn’t look much different, Peter thinks. The Alpha’s right eye is milky, crossed by a long ragged scar, while the other one looks at the newcomers attentively. He clicks his tongue. “Derek and Peter Hale. I didn’t expect to see you again, to be honest. After the fire … We were devastated. But I welcome that you are here now, rebuilding the Hale pack.” He nods at Derek, flashing his eyes red. Derek does the same.  
  
“You brought your emissary and your left hand,” Deucalion says after a moment and tilts his head. “But you also brought another human. Unusual.”

Peter clears his throat and nods at Chris. “This is Christopher Argent.” 

Kali scowls and her eyes flash. “Really, Hale? You come here to discuss Gerard and you bring his heir? Is this a joke?”

Deucalion looks thoughtful, but he stays silent, keeping his eye on the hunter. 

Chris steps forward. “I’m not Gerard’s heir. I broke with him long ago. I’m here to help. I know my father better than anyone else of you. And I want to stop him just as much as you do.”

Kali frowns and Peter knows she has been listening to Chris’ heartbeat, which didn’t falter once while he was talking. 

“Still,” she snarls. “You’re a hunter. You shouldn’t be here.” 

“I think I have to clarify things,” Peter says, shaking his head. “Chris is not only a hunter. He belongs to our pack. And, he is my mate.”

Kali looks scandalized for a moment and Peter can’t help but smirk. Deucalion arches his brows. 

“Of course,” Kali snarls. “What else should I expect from the Hales’ black sheep? Of course you have to pick someone who has killed our own kind as mate. Of course you have to slap it into our faces and we are supposed to accept him.” She glares and growls at Chris, the disgust in her eyes too sharp to be mistaken for anything else.  
  
“Careful now,” Peter says, showing his teeth and stepping in front of Chris. “I have to kindly ask you not to growl at my mate, Kali.”  
  
Kali opens her mouth and Deaton shifts his weight with a quiet cough, but then Deucalion clears his throat and raises a hand. “Kali. Relax. There’s no need to shed blood along our possible allies today. Not with Gerard and his hunters close. We have both heard that Christopher's heart hasn’t stuttered. He is sincere. And it’s Peter’s choice who he takes for his mate. We are not in a place to judge.” His voice remains calm, but his lips twitch slightly and Peter wonders if the Alpha remembers the moment his expensive gift landed in the mud in front of his feet. 

Kali throws her head up. “Fine,” she hisses and sits beside Deucalion. But she keeps her wary eyes on Chris. 

Deucalion looks at Derek, frowning. “It honestly seems like Gerard finally snapped. What you did to his precious daughter is his excuse for a campaign. Without much surprise, there are enough hunters who are ready to follow a codebreaker. As much as I despise this, I think our best chance is a surprise attack with our packs and Satomi's combined. Being faster than them, taking them out before they can make a move on us. When Gerard goes down, I’m quite sure the others will falter.”  
  
Peter nods at the same time as Derek does. He basically thought the same. 

“So,” Deucalion says with a sigh, “Let’s discuss the details of our move …”  
  


* * *

When the discussion is over, their gathering spreads out. Deaton talks to Deucalion’s emissary, Breaden. Kali stands a few metres aside with Derek, talking to him in a fast manner. To Peter’s surprise, Chris is standing close to them as well, his arms crossed and his eyes on Kali. Huh.   
  
While he watches them, Deucalion approaches. “You still have the scars,” he remarks. 

“Yes. They refuse to fade. By now, I think it’s because of the wolfsbane in the fire and smoke,” Peter says. 

Deucalion hums. “Or … Maybe you don’t think you deserve them gone,” he says thoughtfully. 

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that.  
  
Deucalion looks at him a moment longer, then, he steps even closer and raises a hand. “May I?” He asks. 

Peter nods. He knows what the Alpha wants to do. Deucalion has inherited some empath abilities from an old branch of his family, enabling him to feel long gone things by touching someone.  
  
Deucalion lays the palm of his hands against the scarred side of Peter’s face, closing his good eye. After a while, he exhales shakily, opening his eye again. It is distant, like he sees something else. Something hidden in the void. “So much pain,” he says quietly and Peter’s chest tightens. He fights the urge to step away from Deucalion’s touch. It creates the quiet echo of flames. “It’s a shame,” the Alpha says, finally stepping away, looking a bit shaken, “That this happened, when I thought we could have that truce … Almost. I’m sorry for your loss and for your pain. I hope, after we got rid of Argent, you can get the time you lost back and can allow yourself to enjoy it.” He looks over to Chris pointedly, then walks away slowly. 

Peter looks after him silently, thinking that Deucalion doesn't seem angry about anything at all.

* * *

Satomi’s pack is gone. Peter wishes he could believe she moved away, to other, more peaceful lands. But he can’t. The scent of wolfsbane lingering in the air tells another story. They were too late. 

Derek looks pained. Peter knows he liked Satomi a lot. He did too. It would have been wonderful, to have her on their side, with her experience and strength. 

“Do you think she escaped?” Derek asks him, his voice hoarse and his eyes still hopeful. “She is strong. Wise. Maybe, she got away.”  
  
“Maybe,” Peter nods, ignoring the part of him that wants to say, _No_. 

_Gerard is going to pay for this_ , he thinks grimly, digging his claws into the bark of a tree. 

This night, they are going to bring the fight to the old bastard. 

* * *

Peter and Cora have an argument. It’s painful, because it reminds Peter of the past, when the worst they argued about were bad grades at school, Cora arriving home too late on weekends or her flashing her eyes at unsuspecting humans who pissed her off just because she loved to see their terrified reaction. But now, they argue about the upcoming battle. 

“I should be there!” Cora yells. “I’m a Hale. I should defend our home just like you and Derek do! I can’t stay here, doing nothing!” 

Peter gets it. He remember the urge to prove oneself, the urge to be at the place of action. He lays his hands on Cora’s shoulders and says firmly, “You’re not going to do nothing. You are going to protect the pack. My soulmate. The humans. That’s an important task and I trust you with it.” 

Cora bites her lip. Her eyes flash yellow in the intensity of her emotions. “I know. I know it’s important, but … from here, I can’t help you. I can’t look out for you. These hunters killed my other pack, a pack that adopted me out of kindness. They almost killed me, Ethan and Aiden too. I should take revenge, right? I should kill them too!” There are sparks in her eyes and her hands are clenched into fists. Peter knows her claws are digging into her own skin right now. He sighs.  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t have to kill anyone yet and you shouldn’t have to. I had blood on my claws and teeth way too often. Taking a life changes you. It carves into your soul. I don’t want that for you. You don’t have anything to prove. I know, we all know, how strong and capable you are. You survived all these years. You came back to us. I’m so proud of you. And now, you’re going to defend what’s most precious to me, alright? If I don’t make it, or Derek, you have to be here, to continue what we started, okay?”  
  
Cora suddenly looks startled. Peter knows he shocked her with his remark about him or Derek not making it, but it’s a possibility they have to think about. They are going to face Gerard Argent, the oldest hunter alive, and a bunch of men who began hunting in their childhood. Every battle takes its toll. It’s reality. 

But his niece finally loses her determination to go into battle and nods, her body relaxing. “I’m going to stay and protect everyone in this house. I promise.”  
  
Peter smiles at her. “Thank you.” He hesitates, but then pulls her into a hug, scenting her neck and cheek, overwhelmed by both the relief he’s still feeling about her being here and well, as well as by the worry they might lose each other in this. Cora seems surprised, but she mimics his action a moment later. 

When they part, Cora says she wants to talk to Derek - hopefully only to say goodbye, not to coax him into letting her come with them - and Peter goes to speak to the Sheriff.  
  
Noah sits at the kitchen table, stirring in a cup of coffee. He doesn’t look happy. His gun is laying beside him. When Peter approaches, Noah looks up and frowns. “There is going to be killing happening tonight, isn’t there?” 

“Yes,” Peter simply says.  
  
The Sheriff nods and his frown deepens. He glances at his weapon. 

Peter clears his throat. “I don’t ask you to be a part of it. I just ask you to look the other way. Gerard will kill every single one of us if we don’t stop him.”  
  
“He is a murderer and should have a trial as well,” Noah says.  
  
“He’s not going to surrender. Gerard usually carries a vial of poison around with him. A poison that will kill him in seconds. He would rather die by his own hand than being accused of killing what he calls vermins and abominations,” Chris chimes in, entering the kitchen cleaning his gun. “I know this man. You can’t contain him. He has to be stopped. And I say that as his son.”  
  
The Sheriff looks at Chris for a long moment, then sighs heavily, raising both hands in defeat. “Alright. Do what you have to do. I don’t like it. But I also can’t stand the thought of Stiles being in danger because of that man.”  
  
“Nothing is going to happen to Stiles. Not as long as I’m alive. And we are not going to kill hunters who surrender,” Peter says. 

Like on clue, Stiles pads into the kitchen barefooted, rubbing his tired eyes. It’s late. “You’re really worried,” Stiles tells Peter, scrunching his nose. “I can feel it.”  
  
Peter crouches in front of him and puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “There are many bad men out there, who want to kill us. Only a fool wouldn’t be worried.” 

Stiles raises his chin. “But we are many too. We can beat them, right?” 

“They know what they are doing. They have been hunting werewolves their whole lives. They won’t go down easily.”

“Well. They won’t stand a chance,” Stiles says, and one of the bottles in the kitchen starts to wobble. “I’m going to fight with you.” 

There’s a moment of stunned silence in the kitchen as everyone stares at the boy who stands there in his slightly too big pyjama, his hands clenched into fists and eyes dripping with determination. 

Peter talks before Noah can, shaking his head. “You’re a child, Stiles. I can’t take you to this battle. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” 

“But I’m strong,” Stiles protests. “I can control my magic really well now, Jennifer said so. I can help. I want to help!” 

Almost like Cora, Peter thinks, not sure if he’s supposed to be amused or tired. “You are right. You are strong. And you will be even stronger, one day. But you are going to save your strength for another day. This fight is going to be bloody. You don’t want to see this. I don’t want you to see it. Stay here and protect the rest of the pack, together with Cora, alright?” 

Stiles hesitates. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to protest more. But finally, his shoulders slump and he nods. “Okay. I’m going to stay.”  
  
“Even if you feel something,” Peter tells him firmly, putting his hand on Stiles’ chest, where his heart is beating rapidly. “Even if you feel our bond shaking or fading or anything, you’re going to _stay_ here, Stiles. Promise.” 

Stiles doesn’t look happy. But he murmurs, “I promise.”  
  
Peter tries to be content with that. He pats Stiles’ back. “Good. Now, go to sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning.” 

_Hopefully._

* * *

It’s almost time. The premonition of war and blood lies heavy in the air. They are waiting for Deucalion and the fighting members of his pack in the garden. The sky is clear and the stars are out, forming a dense flickering white blanket above them. 

“Ready?” Peter asks Chris, who nods. “Are you sure, Stiles is going to stay here? With the bond you share?” He asks.  
  
Peter sighs. “I hope so. I love this kid. I can’t let anything happen to him. He already was kidnapped by Kate and had to watch her hurt me. He’s already been through too much. And it’s all because of me. He wouldn’t even be here, if he didn’t stumble into my room and my wolf somehow reached out to him.” 

Chris smiles weakly. “Yeah, but you two needed each other. Stiles needed someone to listen. You needed someone to hold on to. And Stiles was magic before he met you. It would have been triggered eventually, maybe in a much worse situation. You don’t have anything to feel guilty about. What happened, happened.”  
  
Peter nods. “Yes. It happened. And after all the time I lost, I really hope we get new time to continue building this life.” He looks at Chris seriously. “You should stay here too.” 

Chris shakes his head immediately. “No. I certainly won’t let you face Gerard alone. I have to be there.”   
  
“Chris … We might die tonight. You’re the only one Allison has left,” Peter points out. 

There’s a hint of pain in Chris’ eyes at that, but then, he says quietly, “That’s not true. She has the pack.” 

Peter chuckles quietly. Who would have known that his pack would contain a hunter and his daughter? “That is true. She will always have the pack. Just like you,” he bites his lip. “Chris, if …”  
  
“No,” Chris says quickly, laying a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t say it. It will be fine.”  
  
 _As long as you don’t put it in words, we don’t have to think about it._

Peter smiles weakly. Sometimes, he wishes he could see the future. Just a little bit. He looks up at the stars again, and then, because it might be the last opportunity, he kisses Chris. It’s little more than a peck, but it’s something. It stirs happier memories.  
  
When they part, they don’t say anything. They just wait and Peter traces Chris’ taste on his lips. Slowly, the other werewolves join them. First, Derek, Ethan and Aiden. Then, Deucalion, with Kali and three other werewolves. It’s time. Peter sees firm eyes and tense jaws. He can taste the determination in the air. 

“Let’s settle once and for all, that this is our home and we’re going to defend it with our blood,” he says, looking at Derek, who flashes his eyes red and nods. 

* * *

Stiles can’t sleep. He tosses and turns, focusing too much on his bond with Peter to calm down.  
  
He still thinks he should be with the pack. He can fight. He proved it. He threw one of the bad men that were trying to hurt Peter against a wall. He’s sure he could deal with the sight of blood. He wouldn’t faint, right? He should help his friends …  
  
Stiles startles, when somewhere, someone slams a car door shut. He rolls on his back and sighs, staring up at the ceiling. 

_Everything will be fine in the morning._

He should cling to that. Because that would mean they can continue with the barbeque days and the card games and everything, without having to worry about people who can’t accept that werewolves exist in a world together with them. Then, they can -

Stiles’ thought is cut off abruptly. As is his breath, when a wave of pain hits him with full force. 

It happens so suddenly and violent, it makes him scream. Stiles frantically tries to get out of bed and gets tangled in the blanket, falling to the floor with a dull thud and a yelp. 

The door opens and Cora enters, reaching for him, her eyes yellow. Stiles’ Dad is behind her, his breath heavy and eyes wide. 

“No!” Stiles yells as soon as he feels Cora’s arms wrapping around him firmly. “Let me go!” 

Cora’s grip tightens when Stiles starts to struggle. “Calm down!” She calls out, grimacing when a pulse of energy comes from Stiles, hitting her right in the chest. “Stiles, calm down!” 

“Let me go! I have to go! I have to help them!” Stiles screams desperately, writhing and kicking. The pain makes it hard for him to focus, he feels like he’s going to lose control. He has to … has to do _something_. 

“You can’t,” Cora tells him, her voice grave. “You can’t help them. And I won’t let you go. I have to protect you. I promised Uncle Peter. I promised!”  
  
 _Peter …_

Stiles sobs. He promised Peter too. He promised to stay home no matter what. He reaches for his chest and presses down there, groaning when the pulses of pain still come. “What’s happening, Stiles?” Cora asks him, sounding worried herself. 

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t know, I …”

Downstairs, the door is kicked open with a loud crash and everything goes to hell. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for swearing, violence and Gerard being Gerard.

“Stay here,” Cora whispers at Stiles, his Dad and Allison. She tiptoes towards the door, all her senses on alert. 

“I can help!” Stiles whispers back, but Cora shakes her head. She is not going to expose Stiles to any danger. “Stay and protect the others,” she tells the boy and he nods, determination in his amber eyes. Cora slips out the door without a noise, sneaking towards the stairs. 

She focuses all her senses down to what is going on in the hallway, her nostrils flaring as she takes in the strange scents invading the familiar smell of _home_ and _pack_. 

There are four men. Humans. _Hunters_ , reeking of gun oil and wolfsbane. Cora wrinkles her nose and suppresses an instinctive growl. She sneaks closer to the stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of them. 

They enter the living room. The men are dressed in dark leather clothes. One of them kicks against a chair, laughing hoarsely. “Doesn’t seem like anyone is home. Or do you think they are hiding under the bed?” 

“I don’t think there are any of the mutts here. I am sure they all wanted to be a part of what they thought would be a surprise attack,” the second man mocks. 

Cora freezes. What? For a horrible moment, her whole mind drowns in the scenario of her pack, her _family_ , walking into a trap, being killed or caught, tortured - is that why Stiles felt the pain in his chest? Cora shivers in horror. But then, she closes her eyes briefly, telling herself to calm down. She can’t freak out now. There are still three people in this house needing protection. She is their only defense.  
  
“Well, without any of these freaks in the way, this will be a lot easier,” another man says. 

“I don’t know. Think about what Gerard said about the magic kid,” Hunter One says, sounding mildly worried.  
  
Hunter Two scoffs. “He’s just a stupid little boy. Whatever magic he has, he certainly didn’t really use it against people so far. Who knows if he even can control it yet.” 

“Whatever. Let’s get to work,” the fourth voice says urgingly.  
  
Suddenly, there is the sound of liquid hitting wooden floor and the sharp smell of gasoline fills the air. Cora sees red. She can’t suppress the low growl that escapes her throat. Her wolf is at the edge. How dare they. They really think they can burn this house down like they burned her family’s one years ago?! Not as long as she is alive. She is going to tear them apart.  
  
Cora lets the wolf come forward. Her teeth sharpen and her claws come out while she’s jumping down the stairs with a roar, ready to lunge at the invaders threatening her pack. 

“Shit!” One of the hunters who is holding a gasoline canister yells and reaches for his weapon, as do the other three. 

Cora hits the man with full force, pulling him down to the floor with her, trying to knock him out with punches to his head. He screams and they roll over the floor together. “Damn it!” Another hunter screams and pulls out an ultrasonic emitter. Cora groans as the high-pitched frequency makes her feel dizzy in seconds, but she doesn’t let go of the struggling hunter. At least, no one can get a clear shot while they are fighting. She soon feels quite desperate. Her injury aches unpleasantly and she is panting. There are too many. She is alone. She can’t … 

She loses hold and yelps, sitting up and blinking. The beeping is driving her crazy. When she looks up, she sees a gun pointed at her and feels a hint of terror. She is going to die … She ...

Studdenly, the man with the gun is thrown away from her by an invisible force and the back of his head hits the wall hard. He grunts, slumping on the floor. 

Cora turns around and sees Stiles on the stairs, his hands up and his gaze focused. 

“No! I told you to stay upstairs!” She yells. 

Stiles looks at her startled. In that exact moment, one of the hunters points his gun at Stiles, taking aim. 

Cora sees it out of the corner of her eyes. And she knows, she will be too late. She just knows. She still jumps. But before she can reach the hunter, before his finger can pull the trigger, there comes a shot from somewhere else, hitting the man in the shoulder. He screams and tumbles back, dropping the weapon.  
  
Cora turns her head to look at the source of the shot and sees Noah Stilinski on the stairs just behind Stiles, his eyes full of fury. “No one points a weapon at my son,” he grits out, lowering his gun. Stiles hugs his Dad fiercely. "You have to stop running away," Noah tells him quietly, shaking his head. "One day, you are going to give me a heart attack."

One hunter is leaning passed out against the wall, another is groaning, trying to stop his wounds from bleeding. But two are still standing, one of them holding the emitter, the other one pulling out a wolfsbane grenade, ready to throw it. 

But before he can do so, there is a roar and the man screams as sharp fangs dig into the flesh of his arm and he is pulled down by strong hands. This is a strange wolf. Barely older than a teenager, just like Aiden and Ethan. His eyes are still yellow. He holds the hunter down and hits him across the head, causing the man to pass out. 

At the same time, a female werewolf rams into the hunter holding the emitter, wrestling him to the ground and causing the emitter to stop the torturing beeping. Relieved and surprised at the same time, Cora joins in to help the strange girl to knock out the remaining hunter. When it’s done, they look at each other panting. 

The girl smiles. “Are you the only ones left here?” She asks, looking around. 

Cora nods. “Three humans and I. A little girl is hiding upstairs.” 

“There is no other hunter around. We are clear,” says another voice and Cora’s eyes widen as surprise overwhelms her. Another werewolf comes into the room, looking around with attentive eyes. Cora knows her. She didn’t think she would ever see her again .. 

“Satomi?” Cora breathes, incredulously. “You are alive.” 

The old werewolf nods at her. She points at the other strange werewolves. “We narrowly escaped an attack on our pack and were in hiding for a while. These two are Brett and Lori. The other members of my pack are helping your pack against Gerard and his men.”  
  
Cora swallows. “Are they alright?” 

Satomi slowly shakes her head. “I can’t tell you. When we left to help here, there was no way to tell who was winning.”  
  
Cora sighs heavily. She focuses on Stiles, who eyes the hunters. “I told you to stay away,” she tells him, narrowing her eyes. 

Stiles ducks a bit. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” he mumbles. 

“It wasn’t smart, but … You saved my life,” Cora says and the boy looks up at her surprised. “Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles looks a bit embarrassed, but he smiles. “You are welcome.” 

“Your magic really is pretty cool,” Cora tells him, and his careful smile changes into a beam.  
  
Noah sighs and rubs the back of his head. He looks at the four passed out hunters and clears his throat. “I guess I’m going to bring these men to the station. I can hold them for uh, burglary and attempted arson, I guess.”  
  
Cora nods. “I hope, the others are okay and will come back soon,” she sighs, side-eyeing Stiles, who still rubs his chest.

* * *

Cora waits anxiously with the others. Noah returns soon, going upstairs to talk to Allison who is still hiding in the bedroom. 

They don’t have to wait that long. 

After a while, the door opens. Ethan and Aidan come stumbled inside first, hitting Cora with the iron smell of blood. “Where is Allison? She shouldn’t see this,” Ethan says urgingly, holding his arm, where he is bleeding lazily from a deep gash. 

_This?_ Cora asks herself startled, but she hurries to answer. “She’s with Stiles and the Sheriff, I told them to stay upstairs while I was guarding the house with Satomi and her wolves.”  
  
“Good,” Aiden says darkly. And the next moment, Cora knows why. 

Derek and Peter are dragging Chris Argent into the house. His body is limp and his face too pale. His grey shirt is drenched in dried and new blood. Cora startles when she smells him. He smells like he’s dying. 

“Call Deaton,” Derek says and Cora nods, pulling out her phone. 

In moments, Noah’s living room is filled with tired werewolves. They are all soaked in blood and dirt and reek of a combination of wolfsbane and gun oil. 

Noah stays upstairs with Allison, trying to get her to go to sleep again.  
  
When Deaton arrives with full gear, he doesn’t hesitate to go to work. He bends over Chris’ still body on the table in the kitchen, while Satomi tends to the more superficial wounds of the other wolves. Deaton makes everyone leave the kitchen, even Peter, who looks like he is going to protest for a moment, but relents, when Stiles takes his hand and goes over to sit on the touch with the boy. 

Cora tells the others what happened. Everyone seems to listen, apart from Peter, whose gaze is distant. Stiles is leaning against him, his hand constantly connected to Peter’s skin, finding spots that aren’t covered in blood or dirt. 

“Then Satomi appeared and helped us,” Cora eventually ends her report. “She saved our life.” 

Derek looks at the old werewolf gratefully. “Thank you.”  
  
Satomi gently tilts her head. “You are welcome. The Hales don’t deserve to lose anyone else.”

It is silent for a moment. Then, Cora asks softly. “What happened, Uncle Peter?” 

Everyone looks at Peter, who sighs, looks at his hands and begins the tale of their battle. 

* * *

* * *

In the beginning, it seems like the moon and the stars are with them. 

The first pleasant surprise is Satomi, slipping out from between the trees, alive and accompanied by her pack. They noticed the move against them soon enough to escape and hid in a safe house. Now, they agree to fight with the two other packs, to get rid of Gerard before he can throw the whole supernatural world into chaos. 

Peter is incredibly glad to see her. She has been like a second mother to the young Hales, always there to offer advice, look at unusual wounds and help with dangerous situations.

Satomi greets everyone of them with a cheek rub and just like Deucalion, she briefly touches the scarred side of Peter's face, her eyes darkening momentarily and flash red - it is a reminder of how fierce and strong she is under all her stealthy calmness. “I am honestly surprise you spared the huntress,” she says, tilting her head. “I am not sure I would have been strong enough to not rip her throat out.”  
  
Peter sighs. “The circumstances … There were two innocent children, one of them my soulmate, the other the daughter of my mate. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let them see … that. She is not a threat anymore. And she will pay for her sins. That is what counts.” 

Satomi nods, understanding in her eyes.

A little while later, they are looking at Gerard’s house, surrounded by mountain ash. The scent of multiple hunters lays in the air. While they are watching, the door opens and four hunters slip out, holding canisters. Derek frowns. “Where are they going.”  
  
Peter thinks. And terror washes over him. “To the Stilinskis’ house,” he breathes. _Stiles .._. His wolf stirs with the urge to run back and protect the boy. He has trouble to fight it down.

Derek’s eyes widen. He shifts his weight, but Peter lays a hand on his shoulders, pressing him down. “Don’t move, maybe they know about the attack,” he hisses. 

“But someone needs to go, needs to make sure they are safe,” Derek presses. 

“I’ll go,” Satomi says. “I’m taking Brett and Lorie with me. You continue this.”  
  
Peter nods. “Alright.” He would trust Satomi with his life, so he does trust her to save the lives of the people he left behind. 

Satomi and the other two wolves move quietly, following the hunters. 

“How could they know?” Derek asks, gritting his teeth. 

“Oh, you know, it literally was written in the stars,” says Gerard’s pleased voice behind them. 

The wolves turn around, only to be blinded by white light as multiple arrows hit the trees around. The world returns a moment later in blurry contours, but Peter can make out Gerard and a group of hunters between the trees. Something feels off, and when he looks at the forest floor, blinking his eyes rapidly to get rid of the echoes of light points, Peter sees the lines of mountain ash, separating them from the hunters. 

“I’m actually glad you came to me instead of waiting. Spares me a lot of work and time,” Gerard says. “I’m going to get rid of three packs at once.” He nods at his men and multiple weapons are pointed at the trapped werewolves. 

The old man sounds so damn smug. It really is time to take away his everlasting confidence. “So you saw us coming? But did you see this coming too?” Peter asks, nodding at Chris, who is still hiding behind a tree. Chris steps forward, moving with the fast elegance of a born hunter. He breaks the mountain ash barrier and has his guns up in a single movement. 

Gerard’s smile falls. “Christopher,” he hisses. “If I’d known I would raise a traitor …” 

“You won’t have much time to think about it,” Chris says calmly. And he shoots. It’s like the shot is a start signal. The wolves roar and leap at the hunters. 

The fight is messy. 

Peter doesn’t even see the face of the man he rams into. He buries his claws and fangs in warm flesh, feeling the blood pooling out of the body pinned under his weight. Vaguely, he can hear the typical sounds of battle around him. Grunts, curses, screams, even last breaths, since so far, no one seems to want to give up. Gerard seems to have brainwashed his group well. With a vague hint of regret Peter wonders how many family fathers are going to die today. And all because of hate … 

Peter raises his head, looking up from the lifeless body. He sees Chris beating another man up who already looks half-unconscious. He sees Ethan and Aiden attacking two hunters who try to get their weapons between the snapping werewolf teeth. He sees Derek and Deucalion taking out a hunter who manages to throw a last wolfsbane grenade which engulfes the battlefield in a sweet lilac cloud. It is not strong enough to really weaken the wolves though. He sees a wolf of Satomi’s pack stumbling back when he’s hit by a bullet and growls, jumping up to help. But before he can leap at the hunter, Kali is there, kicking the man in the face, her clawed toes ripping skin and flesh apart. She clearly has the situation under control. 

Peter looks at Gerard, who stares at the fight grimly, his weapon raised as he shoots now and then, his eyes narrowed in hate.

“You are losing, old man,” Peter tells him, showing his bloodied teeth.

Gerard looks at him and smiles slowly. “Oh no. No, I don’t think so,” he says. 

Peter frowns. Gerard looks … confident. Still confident. And way too smug for someone who is about to be defeated. He raises his hand which is suddenly holding a little ampul. “Not all witches do like werewolves, you know?” He says slowly, and Peter feels a hint of panic at the words. At what they could mean. Sure … It would explain why Gerard saw them coming. He somehow convinced a witch to help him. A witch able to see the future, at least partly. “Some were hurt by wolves, or chased away by a pack because of their premonitions and their power. I found such a witch. She helped me a lot. She gave me this for example …” 

Gerard throws the ampul. It shatters on the ground. A slightly yellow cloud rises up from the shards, spreading in the air. It is not wolfsbane. Not exactly. It is more. So much more … 

“Step away!” Peter yells and multiple wolves turn into his direction, confused. Peter knows he has already inhaled some of the unknown poison. He feels slightly dizzy. When he tries to keep his gaze on Gerard, he sees the old man smiling in ugly glee. “This is going to be so much fun,” Gerard says, not even bothering to raise his gun. He just watches.  
  
Peter wants to leap at him. But he can’t move. Something is making him freeze. Something … It is terror, he realizes, feeling dizzier from second to second. Terror, rising up from his inside, spreading out to every cell of his mind. Suddenly, he can hear screaming and can smell smoke. Frantically, he turns to make out the source of the fire, but all he can see, are wolves on the ground, writhing and eyes rolling in fear. 

Peter gasps. He can’t breathe. The smoke is choking him. He reaches for his throat, falling to the ground and scrambling to get away. The fire … It is too close. It is going to reach him. Is going to burn him, like it burns his family. He can hear his sister screaming his name, can see her hand reaching out. He weakly tries to take it, but she seems so far away … He can't do it. He can't save her. He can't save anyone, can't save his family. They are dying and he can't protect them. Peter sobs. The world vanishes in the roaring of the flames. He feels heat on his face and tries to get away, but he can’t move. God. He can’t move … 

Vaguely, from somewhere, he can hear laughing. Gerard is laughing. He looks down at Peter like he is an interesting insect he is going to squash under his shoe. “Fear. The witch gave me something that brings out the greatest fear in you mutts. Fear is the thing you abominations have in common with us humans, right? Fear is going to make me the victor. Do you remember burning? She said it would be like living through everything again. Oh, I would love to draw this out, but I am busy. I figure this is like a mercy killing now. Maybe you will even meet your filthy packmates, who knows …” The old man cocks his gun. 

* * *

Chris watches in horror as the wolves around him sink to the ground one by one, pressing their hands on their ears or eyes, whining and shaking their heads, begging and screaming, as if they are in pain. 

Whatever is in the air isn’t affecting the humans. Most of the hunters are already stirring again. They are facing a disaster, Chris realizes. He has to do something. Quickly, he knocks a hunter out who is trying to get to his gun and turns, his eyes searching … 

What he sees, makes his blood freeze. 

Peter is on the ground, writhing weakly and whimpering, his eyes filled with terror. He is reaching for his throat and face, but doesn’t try to get up. 

Gerard is standing over him with his gun. He points it at Peter’s head. 

Chris sees red. He raises his gun, takes aim and shoots. 

Gerard yells in surprise and anger as the bullet pierces his right shoulder. The gun drops on the forest floor. The old man reaches up to touch the wound, looking at the blood with narrowed dark eyes. He glares at Chris and snarls. “You. You absolute disgrace of a son!”  
  
Chris approaches Gerard, his gun still raised. “Get away from him.”  
  
Gerard sneers at him. He picks up his gun and puts it into his left hand. “I can shoot with both hands, you know that very well. First, I will kill this filthy piece of shit and then I will teach you a damn lesson, you …” 

“No.” Chris steps in front of Peter and points his gun at Gerard’s head. It isn’t shaking. “You won’t hurt him. Not as long as I am alive.”  
  
Gerard laughs. He looks thoroughly entertained. “Really, Christopher? Really? You are pointing your gun at your own father? I raised you! I fed you! You ungrateful little rat, you will show me the respect I deserve!” 

Chris doesn’t move the gun. It still points at Gerard’s head. “Surrender,” he says calmly. “Or I’ll shoot you.”  
  
Gerard’s hard eyes widen the slightest bit. “You wouldn’t do it,” he hisses, “you are too weak.” 

“I am not that scared little boy from the past,” Chris says. “I am not scared of you. You abused me my whole life. You insulted me, beat me. I could never satisfy you. Long ago, I broke with you, making sure you won’t do the same to my daughter. I am done with you. Now, surrender. Your hate is leading us nowhere. Humans and werewolves have shared this world for ages, and they will continue to do it. They have the same right to live as we do. Surrender!” 

Gerard roars, pointing his gun at Chris, his eyes wild. “They have no right to live! They are God’s mistakes! I will purge this world from these abominations! I will be the savior of humanity. They are going to build me a shrine, when I’m done…” 

“Are you even hearing yourself talking?” Chris hisses. “You are not sane! Your hate is going to be your downfall. You successfully planted this seed of hate into your daughter. And look, where it led her. Look where it is leading you … Take your gun down, this is over.”  
  
“Oh no,” Gerard says slowly. “No, no, no. It isn’t over. But one thing is definitely over. You are not my son. I have no son.”  
  
For a single moment, the words sting. They sting and Chris’ breath hitches for a moment. It’s a moment too long.  
  
The shot is too loud in the sudden silence. 

Chris barely feels the impact. He stumbles and falls, but while he does, he takes aim and shoots, the regret and anger a tired cold feeling in his chest. 

He doesn’t see where his bullet lands. He only hears a gasp and thud, similar to the dull thud his body makes, when it hits the forest floor. Chris exhales shakily and looks up at the sky. The stars are bright today …

Chris turns his head to look at Peter, who seems to slowly recover from whatever the poison did to him and the other wolves. His eyes clear and he coughs, putting his hands under his body to heave it up a bit. 

“Peter …” Chris says. Or wants to say. Suddenly, his voice is stuck in his throat.

Peter looks at him, and freezes. His beautiful blue eyes widen and he scrambles to get to Chris, his hands cupping Chris’ face. “Chris! No … No, no, stay with me!” He stutters. 

Chris realizes it must be bad. Huh. He didn’t think he would die of an ordinary bullet … 

But now, he can feel it. Can feel the blood pulsing out of the wound in his chest. Can taste iron on his tongue. Breathing becomes exhausting. He weakly reaches out to touch Peter’s face. “Take,” he tries, interrupted by a cough. “Take care,” he starts again, “of Ally.”  
  
Peter starts to cry. Chris has never seen him cry. The tears are making his eyes even bluer. “No. No, you can’t,” Peter says. Black lines run up his arms when he starts to take Chris' pain. Chris starts to feel like he's floating on a cloud. It is rather nice. "You are going to be alright," Peter tells him, his voice breaking on the last syllable. "Chris, please ..."

Chris smiles weakly. “Love … love you.”  
  
He closes his eyes and the darkness that reaches for him is too strong to withhold. 

Nothing.

* * *

* * *

Peter looks down at his bloody hands when everyone in the room stares at him with eyes that are too pitiful, too sympathetic. He can’t stand it. The only thing he can stand, is Stiles’ little hand on his arm, the comfort that is pulsing through their soulmate bond, mixing with their shared sadness.  
  
No one is talking now. But everyone is relieved that Gerard is dead, at least.  
  
Everyone is exhausted. Noah starts to hand out water bottles and quickly made sandwiches.  
  
Peter goes to wash his hands and face, to get rid of at least the most blood. Stiles stays at his side and it feels like their energy is reaching for each other. The fox leaning against the wolf, offering silent comfort. 

* * *

  
It seems to take ages until Deaton comes out of the kitchen, pulling off blood soaked gloves. 

His face is unreadable. 

Peter doesn’t have the courage to ask. He just waits. 

Deaton clears his throat. “He is alive. But … He is not out of the woods. He lost too much blood. He is weak. I would be much more comfortable with him in a hospital, but I know it is not an option for you. We will have to watch him closely. I got the bullet out, stitched and bandaged his wound and I set up an IV. He also is on a lot of painkillers and I applied some herbs that - hopefully - will support the healing process and help with the fever.”  
  
“Thank you,” Peter mumbles.  
  
Deaton nods and goes to look at other wounds that still might need care. 

Peter gets up and goes into the kitchen, scared of what might await him there. When Stiles wants to follow him, he shakes his head softly. “Get some rest, little one,” he says and Stiles timidly stays on the couch, his eyes already falling shut.  
  
Derek does follow Peter into the kitchen, and he allows it. He has a request …

* * *

Derek is tired. The fight has drained him. When Gerard used the poison, he saw Kate and what they did, felt her touch on his skin, again and again. It was torture. But he can’t go to sleep now, not with Chris on the table, passed out and pale, barely looking alive. 

Peter paces the kitchen, eyes wild and hands clenched into fists. He reeks of desperation and rage. 

Derek wishes, he would be better at giving comfort. He wishes he would know the right words for a situation like this. But he can only be there, standing beside the table silently. 

When Peter stops pacing and talks, the words cut through the silence like a knife. “If he doesn’t recover … If he ... You have to give him The Bite, Derek.”  
  
Derek freezes. “What?” He asks, stunned. 

Peter glares at him, his expression determined. “You have to bite him.” 

“I … I can’t bite someone without their consent, Peter. Not without considering the risks. This is not what we were taught. I won’t just bite someone, I can’t, it’s wrong … He doesn’t look like he would survive it.”

Peter shakes his head, looking at Derek with growing desperation. “I know. But ... I can’t lose him again! I can’t. And Allison. He's all she has. Please, Derek. _Please._ ” 

Derek feels his throat tightening. He has never heard his Uncle beg like this. “He will recover,” he says firmly, trying to convince himself _and_ Peter. “He is stronger than that. He won’t let an ordinary bullet from his father kill him. He will recover.” 

“But if he doesn’t …” Peter says, looking from Chris’ still form back to Derek, his eyes wide. “If he doesn’t recover, you will bite him, won’t you?” 

Derek hesitates. His heart is pounding. He has never bitten someone since he became Alpha. Can he really do it? He looks from Chris, who is pale like the moon, to Peter, who is so heartbroken, and makes his decision. “I will,” he says quietly. “I don’t know if it the bite is going to take, but … I will try.”  
  
Peter exhales shakily. He looks relieved. “Thank you, pup,” he says softly. Then, he pulls a chair beside the table and sits down, taking one of Chris’ limp hands in his own and squeezes it, lowering his head. 

Derek can hardly stand the sight. But he stays anyway. 

Just in case. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, sorry for another stressful cliffhanger? You can totally yell at me, I yelled at myself.


	15. Chapter 15

Chris closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The forest sings softly around him, half asleep half alive in the middle of the night. A full moon causes everything to sparkle in pale silver. A breeze makes the leaves of the trees rustle. An owl calls out hollowly. Something scurries through the undergrowth. Countless nuances of smells mingle with each other until they seem to become one. 

Chris frowns and relaxes his muscles. He tries to focus on one thing at a time. It is hard. Incredibly hard. His senses want to move in every direction at once. Chris feels like a conductor that is trying to listen to only one of the instruments in an orchestra. He has to pick one tone. One little nuance …  
  
Something inside him growls, something wants to run, _now_ . _Patience_ , he tells himself and the something sternly. _Patience …_

And there it is. The smell he was searching for. It is still fresh, easy to follow. Now that he sticks to it, it shines bright and colorful, standing out between all the irrelevant smells. This scent makes his heart beat faster, and he follows it, his eyes still closed. He doesn’t need them. 

Chris only opens them, when his trail ends. He opens his eyes and sees that he arrived on a clearing bathed in the moonlight. 

He sees Peter standing there, looking at his phone and smiling proudly. “Half an hour. You are getting faster.”

Chris sighs. “Not as fast as I want to be. It is not easy to focus. Especially with the full moon.” 

Peter hums and looks at him, flashing his eyes. Chris’ flash in return. Supernatural blue. The first time he saw it in a mirror, he stumbled back in breathless surprise. “Considering it is your first one, you are controlling yourself astonishingly well, Christopher. You found an anchor very fast.”  
  
Chris chuckles. “Of course I did. He is standing right in front of me.”  
  
Peter cocks a brow and scoffs, but his eyes sparkle. “Sap.” 

Chris shrugs. “What can I do? I just don’t want to chase after anyone that isn’t you.” 

Cora makes a gagging noise from where she is sitting cross-legged on a rock and they turn around to her. “Ugh. Really?!” she wrinkles her nose and looks up from her phone to glare at them. “Would you two tone that down. There are children present. Fortunately, Stiles and Allison can’t smell what I smell.”

“But I can feel some of it!” Stiles calls happily from where he is sitting in the grass with Allison, drinking lemonade and sharing sweets. 

Cora’s face falls. She shakes her head and sighs heavily as if she wants to say, This is my life now. Then, she focuses back on her phone, her hair falling forward, hiding her face. 

Peter laughs. Chris likes the noise. It makes him feel warmer and he can sense the something - his wolf, he thinks still stunned, it is your wolf - purring inside him, feeling utterly content. 

Chris is so glad he is here to hear Peter laugh. 

A moment later, Noah and the twins arrive with a lot of new food. Everything they are going to need for their night of the full moon. Fresh meat for the werewolves - Noah still can’t quite believe they eat their meat raw tonight, but he is about to see it live and in color - loads of sandwiches for the humans, more lemonade and the best beer Beacon Hills has to offer. 

The night is about to be good. 

He feels euphoric. 

Chris focuses back on Peter, who suddenly looks a bit worried. “What are you thinking?” He asks. 

“That this is amazing,” Chris says, taking Peter’s hand. “It is amazing to see, hear and smell the world like you do. I feel like I am high, but in a good way.” 

Peter looks relieved and chuckles. "Wait until you start to eat later," he says. "the first bite is incredible." 

Chris smiles back. "I can hardly wait," he says, squeezing Peter's hand lightly. He remembers how guilty Peter looked in the beginning. How he rambled out apologies at Chris’ bedside. He is aware Peter feared that Chris would despair or would insist on doing what the hunters’ old code demanded: killing himself as soon as he shifted for the first time. But actually, Chris has never liked life as much as he is doing it now.  
  
He is still here. He can be here for Allison, seeing her grow up. He can be here, catching up with Peter. He finally lives his life like he wants to and like it makes him happy. Why would he throw that away? Why would he choose an old code over this family?

No. No, he’s going to stay. As long as he can.   
  


Chris barely remembers the transition. It is mostly a blur. He remembers Peter’s voice, remembers Derek’s chiming in sometimes, remembers shreds of words. _Fever, rising higher, impossible, not survive, hold on, you have to, i can’t, do it, Chris …_ _  
_  
Somewhere deep down, even while being unconscious, Chris was aware he was dying. Life was slowly being pulled out of him. And then, suddenly, it stopped. Everything stopped.

Something reached for him, reached _inside_ him, and changed him. 

He was so hot. His body was burning. His heart was pounding and he could hear it. When he opened his eyes for the first time since being shot, he startled. Something - no, everything - was different. Was .. _more_ .  
  
God. Everything was so _loud_ . So loud, so bright and … what was this smell? It seemed to come from everywhere. So much. _Too_ much. 

Chris groaned and sat up slowly, raising a hand and touching his sweaty forehead. “What …” He had to stop again for a moment. Talking was … different too. He cleared his throat. “What happened?”

Peter swallowed. “Chris, I didn’t know what to do. You were dying, I …” he stopped, looking rueful. 

And that was when Chris got it. He got what happened. Oh. He was sure his heart missed a beat. He took a deep breath and swayed with the intensity of smell hitting him. “Is this how it is for you?” he asked and chuckled weakly. “Because I don’t know what to smell, hear or feel first.” 

Peter made a choked up noise and squeezed Chris’ hand. “I am sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Chris said. And he meant it. “It’s alright …”  
  


The wound in his chest was gone. With every passing moment, he felt stronger. When he was finally able to stand up, Peter hugged him and told him, “I am going to help you. It is going to get better, I promise.”  
  
Chris just nodded, overwhelmed by how intense Peter’s scent was now. God. He could drown in it …

He did for quite a while.  
  


He remembers it now and smiles. If Gerard or Kate knew about this, they would completely lose their mind, Chris knows. An Argent turned werewolf. Oh the irony. He loves it.

Peter is a good teacher. Of course he is, he taught all the pups and the newly turned werewolves in the past. Chris is just like them, lost in the sensations and in the pull of the moon.

Peter is his anchor in more than one way.

When Chris leans over to rub his cheek against Peter’s to scent-mark him, his heart seems to jump a loop inside his chest and he knows he would choose this life over everything else he could have gotten.  
  


* * *

  
Derek is surprised about how fast Chris is adjusting to being a wolf. 

But then, he thinks, he has already been one, at least partly. There was a time when Chris spent more time with Peter and the Hales, than with his own family. In this time, Derek has learned to connect Chris’ smell to Peter’s. The whole pack thought they would start courting and become mates. But then, Chris left. Derek still remembers the bitter smell of misery coming from Peter’s room. How he buried himself there, under blankets and books, not coming out for weeks. 

And now, now Chris is Derek’s first bitten werewolf. It feels strange, to know he has changed a human so much with only one bite. He has given Chris his very own wolf. 

When he did it, Derek was hopeful, but deep down convinced it wouldn’t work. 

It hurts to remember Chris laying still and so sick on that table in the kitchen. So pale and frail. 

It hurts to remember Peter begging him, his eyes desperate and words uncharacteristically stumbled. 

The decision he had to make was ripping Derek apart. Their family didn’t go around, just biting people and changing them. They were taught from a young age that the Bite was a gift. The one getting it must want it. The one getting it must be of good health. The one getting it must know the risk of the transition. The risk of dying. 

Chris was weak. Derek could smell the life dripping out of his body. Worse, he wasn’t able to consent. He wasn’t able to ask for the Bite or to agree to take the risk. 

It was going against everything Derek has been taught. And yet … This was his uncle’s mate. His uncle’s mate was dying on a kitchen table and the Bite was a chance to save him. It was a little chance, full of risks. The mental image of Chris dying anyway, choking on black goo instead of blood, was torturing Derek. It mingled with memories of Paige.

But the thought of Peter losing someone else tortured him more than the maybe-scenarios running through his head. 

So he took Chris’ hand, raised it and bit into his wrist with his fangs until he tasted the iron of blood on them. 

When it was done, he stared at Chris’ still face anxiously, but of course nothing was happening at first. Chris was still breathing shallowly, sweat pooling on his forehead. 

“Thank you,” Peter said, his eyes fixed on Chris as well. “Thank you, pup.” 

“I don’t know if it will take,” Derek told him. “He could still die.”

Peter nodded curtly. “I know. But you gave me something to hope for.”  
  
Derek didn’t know what to say. They waited in silence, the only noises in the room their combined breaths and a clock ticking somewhere.  
  
The change happened after an hour. Fast, but not the fastest Derek has witnessed. Chris’ body started to heat up and his muscles started seizing. They called Deaton, who had been helping with transitions in the past. The emissary was obviously surprised about Derek’s decision. “You bit him. He didn’t ask you to, did he?” he asked quietly, while putting a washcloth soaked in herbal water on Chris’ forehead. 

“No,” Derek said, “but I had to.” 

Deaton hummed but didn't say anything. He took Chris’ vitals and frowned. “He is weak. But his pulse is racing and his temperature is spiking up. There is a lot going on in his body now. We can only wait now.” 

Derek glanced at Peter, whose face was stone. He was clutching Chris’ hand, taking his pain for long minutes, until Derek took over without a word. 

Chris suddenly coughed and Derek tensed up, but no black goo was coming out of the hunter’s mouth and his breath seemed to calm down. His body stopped to seize. 

Derek exhaled shakily. Hope stirred, carefully. Maybe the Bite was actually taking. Or … or Chris was about to die and this was the last moment of calmness before life left him. Derek hoped with all he got, that it was the first possible outcome. 

Time passed like it always does. Relentlessly and indifferently. 

Eventually, Chris opened his eyes and groaned. Derek exhaled shakily, releasing a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding in. Peter bent over Chris with wide eyes. “Chris?” 

Chris frowned. He blinked rapidly a few times, grimacing and raising a trembling hand to look at it. Derek knew what was happening and it finally took away his fear it wouldn’t work. Chris was experiencing the first perks of being a wolf: Heightened senses. 

“What …” the hunter murmured, his eyes sluggishly focusing on Peter’s face and staying there. “What happened?” 

Derek didn’t expect Chris’ reaction to Peter’s stumbled concerned words and his own dawning realization. He didn’t expect the “It’s alright”, but it seemed to take a heavy weight off his shoulders. 

Chris looked at him. He still seemed overwhelmed and was dripping with sweat, but he still smiled weakly. “Thank you. For saving my life.”  
  
Derek couldn’t say anything. His throat was too tight with emotion. But Peter stared at him and mouthed the same words. _Thank you_. And then he knew, it was the right thing to do.   
  


He still thinks so, now. 

Sometimes, he kind of forgets that Chris is a wolf now. Until he feels the new kind of bond they have, the Alpha-Beta bond, pulsing fresh and strong inside him, connected to the bond he has with Peter. 

Chris is a fast learner. Derek hasn’t expected anything else. It is a bit funny, to see Peter teaching the hunter like he taught the pups in the past. Funny, but also painful, like most memories are. 

But he can make a lot of new ones.  
  
Like today. It is the first full moon he spends with his new pack. His family. 

They are all together and the threat is gone. Of course, there will always be other threats, there is still Kate in prison and the upcoming trial, but for now, he can lean back and enjoy this, Derek thinks. He can enjoy the pull of the moon, the way his wolf marvels at all the pack bonds, the comforting presence of everyone he cares about. 

“To be Alpha,” his mother told him long ago, “means to hold everything and everyone together, Derek. It is your responsibility, and it is sometimes hard, to prevent any strings from tearing, but when you lean back and look at your family, you know it is worth it.”   
  


And she was right.   
  


* * *

  
Stiles thinks this is one of the best nights of his life. He is allowed to stay up for the whole of it, and everyone is here, outside, enjoying the mild night and the full moon. 

When he focuses, he can feel it. The pull of it, the way it makes his heart sing a bit more. But he thinks, it is more what Peter’s wolf feels. It floats to him through their connection. 

The last weeks were scary and there were a lot of horrible people. What they did and wanted to do made Stiles’ heart heavy and caused his stomach to clench, but now, everything seems to be quite okay and hey, how cool is it that he is a kid but he is in a werewolf pack? How cool is it that he can do magic? 

It’s not only cool, it’s _awesome_. 

It makes him feel so much joy, he makes a few bottles of beer floating again, causing Allison to giggle and look at him in wonder. Stiles likes how she looks at him, it makes his chest feeling warm with proudness. He also likes to spend time with her, she’s pretty cool too. Mr. Argent taught her how to handle a bow and arrows. She’s really good and Stiles hopes she can teach him some more, because he can’t even hold the bow properly right now and she always chuckles lightheartedly when he drops an arrow. 

Right now, they are sitting in the grass which is not cold at all although it’s the middle of the night, and share some lemonade. Because it was a special night, Stiles’ Dad let him taste a bit of his beer, but Stiles immediately knew it wasn’t his thing, ugh. It tasted awful. He can't understand why almost all grown-ups want to drink it so desperately.  
  
Stiles sips his lemonade and looks over to Peter, who stands close to Mr. Argent who is a wolf now too. Peter’s energy is light and happy. When Stiles concentrates, he can see Peter’s wolf. He doesn’t look so angry anymore. 

In the beginning, when Peter started to call Chris his mate, Stiles felt a little prick of jealousy, but he quickly got rid of it. Chris is a different kind of mate. He doesn’t share what Stiles shares with Peter, and in return, Stiles won’t share with Peter what he is sharing with Chris. That is alright, Stiles thinks, actually feeling a tiny bit tired now. There is enough Peter for the both of them. 

Tomorrow, Stiles knows, they will all sleep long. But soon, he will continue to learn magic with Jennifer, who is about to return from her trip. He can’t wait.   
  


* * *

  
Peter feels content for the first time in ages. There is no worry or fear staining the feeling. He can feel his wolf agreeing to the feeling, not pulling into another direction like he used to lately, ever since he woke up from the coma. Even though the scars are still there, even though he still wakes up at night with the aftershock of flames around him and the echo of screams, even though he is sometimes overwhelmed by misery and it seems to try to pull him down into a dark pit, he feels content and he knows why. 

It is a glorious full moon and they are doing what they did in the past. Everyone stays awake and together. The whole night. 

Peter lets his gaze wander over the clearing, from Derek, who talks to Ethan and Aiden, to Cora still sitting on the rock and typing on her phone in remarkable speed, to Noah who yawns where he is sitting on a camp chair, to Stiles and Allison who sit in the grass. Chris wandered over to them, now entertaining his daughter with his new abilities. 

“Do it again!” she squeals. 

Chris flashes his eyes blue at her. Allison gasps as if it was the first time and giggles. “This is sooo cool, Dad!” 

Chris smiles and tickles her breathless. 

Stiles turns to look at Noah, his eyes wide and sparkling with a hopeful idea, but the Sheriff immediately shakes his head. “No. Don’t even think about it. I am not going to turn into a werewolf only for a party trick!” 

Stiles looks openly disappointed for a moment, but he quickly recovers from the slight bummer, when he gets another glass of lemonade and a sandwich. 

Peter smiles and averts his hearing from them, focusing it on the forest for a moment, instead. 

It is peaceful. 

Peter hopes it can stay like that. Of course, nothing ever stays the same, no one knows that better than him, but that doesn’t have to mean all the good things leave right this second. He gets to enjoy this. He can allow himself to enjoy it. 

He can enjoy this new little family surrounding him with their love.  
  
Peter breathes in the earthy forest scent and goes to join Chris and the kids. The night is still young.   
  


_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for now :) 
> 
> Actually, this started as an One Shot, than suddenly it had more chapters, and it should have ended at chapter 10, but then wanted to continue, haha. I had so much fun writing this story, playing around with magic and pack dynamics. I feel like there should be a sequel, maybe with a sligthly older Stiles, we'll see ^^
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, leaving kudos <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> This might become a series, since I have a lot of feelings about it ^^ 
> 
> Edit: It is a multichapter fic now. Of course.   
> ~   
> I always love to hear what you are thinking about the story! ❤
> 
> Say hi on [Tumblr](https://for-the-love-of-wolves.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


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